(navigation image)
Home American Libraries | Canadian Libraries | Universal Library | Community Texts | Project Gutenberg | Biodiversity Heritage Library | Children's Library | Additional Collections
Search: Advanced Search
Anonymous User (login or join us)
Upload
See other formats

Full text of "Chambers's miscellany of useful and entertaining knowledge (Vols. 2-4, nos. 34-65)"

S. G. and E. L. ELBERT 






THE GOLDMAKERS' VILLAGE. 

A STORY.* 



OSWALD RETURNS FROM THE WARS TO HIS NATIVE VILLAGE- 
MILLER TELLS HIS STORY. 



-THE 



^^^g^ NE fine summer afternoon, a g-ood many years ago, 
Mm^^^^ the out-door loiterers of Goldenthal, who were list- 
M^^^^t lessly spending' their time beneath the shade of the 
fe.^^1^ bushy lime trees which overhung- the village street, 
had their attention drawn to a stranger who was making 
his way towards them. Tall, well-made, and dressed in a 
gray coat, with a knapsack on his back and a sword at his 
side, he was evidently no ordinary wanderer. He looked so 
formidable, with a large scar on his brow, and a black mustache 
under his nose, that the children shrunk aside from him as he 
passed up the village. The shout which some of them raised, 
brought several old women to the doors, and these soon recog- 

* This simple story is a translation from " Das Goldmacher-Dorf," of 
Heinrieh Zschokke, at present a popular writer in Germany, whose pen is 
devoted to a cause which we have espoused — the improvement of the 
humbler classes of society. To bring it within the compass of a sheet, 
the story is shghtly abridged ; and to adapt it to the apprehension, as 
well as to excite the sympathies of English readers, some of the descrip- 
tions and sentiments have been necessarily altered or modified. In other 
"'Aspects, the child-like simplicity of the original remains. — Ed. 

No. 34. I 



THE GOLDMAKERS' VILLAGE. 



nised the stranger. " Here is Oswald again," they exclaimed, 
" who went for a soldier years ago." 

A crowd was soon collected round the wayfarer, who was 



kindly greeted by all his old friends and acquaintances, every 

he had come back to reside amongst them. To 

_._j Oswald announced that, tired of the life of a 

soldier, he had given up the military profession, and intended to 



one inquiring if 



these inquiries Oswald announced that, tired of the life of a 
soldier, he had given up the military profession, and intended to 
remain for the rest of his days in the village of Goldenthal. 
Pleased with the intelligence, and desirous of gathering an 
account of our hero's life, a number of persons asked him to 
retire to a tavern with them for a little friendly chat ; but this 
invitation he respectfully declined, and asked them by whom 
his father's house was now inhabited. The miller, who had 
taken care of the house and land left by Oswald's father to 
his son, now came forward and said that a few days only would 
be required to make the house ready for its new inmate, and, in 
the meantime, he should have pleasure in entertaining Oswald 
at the mill. This kind invitation was accepted, and, after spend- 
ing a few days with the sensible and hospitable miller, the retired 
soldier took possession of his own house. 

For some time, Oswald was so busily engaged in making a 
number of repairs and improvements on his premises, that he 
had no time to bestow on intercourse with his neiofhbours, whose 
amusements were anything but agreeable to him. In conse- 
quence of this neglect, the villagers began to cherish bad suspi- 
cions against the new settler, and to make remarks on his con- 
duct. They said they could not understand the man — his foreign 
travel had made him churlish and unsocial — constantly toiling 
or reading, he did not seem to have a moment to spare for an 
occasional sip at the wine flask — a strange thing, indeed, for an 
old soldier not to take a glass. 

Possessing naturally much good sense, which had been greatly 
improved by experience in the bustling life which he had led, and 
also some choice reading, Oswald possessed opinions on various 
subjects considerably different from those of his old village 
companions, whose proceedings were not at all to his mind. A 
yearning for the scenes of his infancy had brought him back 
to Goldenthal, which he loved with all its shortcomings and 
errors. It grieved him, on looking through the village, and 
learning something of its history, to discover that it had been 
for some years declining in its prosperity, and was now in an 
exceedingly bad condition. Formerly, it could boast of not a few 
respectable men in good circumstances, persons who could credit- 
ably take a lead in affairs ; with a considerable number who, 
though not rich, were yet industrious, and removed above poverty. 
And what a difference now ? Except the miller, the tavern-keepe^^ 
and two or three farmers, the people were generally worse than 
poor ; for they were in debt. There was likewise a deterioration 
of manners, and things upon the whole looked desolate. Many of 

2 



THE GOLDMAKERS' VILLAGE. 

the houses were greatly in want of repair ; rubbish lay in masses 
in different quarters ; the g-utters were far from cleanly, and sent 
up a pestiferous odour ; while the insides of the houses were cor- 
responding-ly mean and untidy. The clothes of the people, also, 
did not seem what they used to be ; their universal shabbiness 
showing- a want of self-respect. To complete the picture, men 
might be seen at all hours listlessly dozing" away existence with 
pipes in their mouths, instead of working at some useful occupa- 
tion. All too truly told a tale of sloth and impoverishment. 
Oswald took the liberty of hinting at these symptoms of general 
decline ; but he was only abused for his pains. It is a thankless 
task to remind people of their duties. 

Distressed with all he had seen, Oswald betook himself one day 
to the house of the miller, who could sympathise with him in his 
feelings. " Pray tell me, my friend," said he, " what has been 
the cause of this strange social degeneracy ? When I departed 
from Goldenthal, it was a brisk little prosperous place ; now it is 
all going' to ruin. Surely it has not been scourged to a greater 
extent by war than its neighbours ?" 

"You are right," replied the miller; "our village has not 
suffered by war more than other villages which are flourishing*. 
The causes of our decay are more continually at work, and I shall 
try to give you an insight into them. There has been gradually 
creeping over us a disposition to take things easily. Two or 
three men, who are our parish officers, are tavern-keepers, and 
they manage public business for their own benefit. The village 
common, which used to be of some consequence, is thus badly 
managed ; in fact, the funds are abused, and no little is spent in 
feasting and carousing. Still you would say, it must after all 
be people's ov/n blame if they get poor ; the mere robbery of some 
public revenues cannot do it. That is true. But, with a bad 
example before them, the bulk of the villag*ers become careless, 
imitate bad habits, and, in short, spend a large share of their 
earnings in the taverns, and at cards and billiards. It is a curious 
thing, I tell you, that few men are able to keep the small proper- 
ties left them by their fathers and grandfathers. They first get 
them burdened with debt, and then they are compelled to sell 
them. It all comes from following low habits." 

" When you have known all this," said Oswald, " why did you 
not expose it, so as to open the eyes of the people 1 " 

" Because I had no hope of a good result," said the miller ; 
" for, while all allow that we are in a deplorable case, and all will 
agree in general complaints and reproaches, none will thank 
you for attempting to discover the true causes of our decline, 
since every one fears lest he should have to bear some portion of 
the blame." 

« " What ! is there neither conscience nor religion left in the 
place?" exclaimed Oswald — "what does the parson say to all 
this?" 



THE GOLDMAKERS' VILLAGE. 

" Oh, he preaches on his customary round of topics, but never 
enters particularly into the real circumstances of the people, nor 
makes any close and practical application of his doctrine to them. 
He is an old man, rather reserved and haug-hty in his manners. 
He seems to preach from habit, as the people g*o to church from 
habit, and come back no better. And the young- are following" 
the example of their elders." 

" Is your schoolmaster, then, g-ood for nothing- V Oswald 
asked. 

'• Since your father died," said the miller, " our school has 
never prospered. The boys and g^irls learn, by compulsion, to 
read, write, and reckon a little, and perhaps to repeat a prayer 
besides ; but then, what is this a<?ainst all that the}' learn from 
their parents at home — deceit and lying", swearings, quarrelling-^ 
beg-g-ing" and stealing-, idleness and intemperance, envy and 
slander ?" ':^ 

Oswald heard with pain all that the miller had to tell of the 
parish, then shook his head with a dejected air and went away to 
meditate on the melancholy account. 



ir. 

OSWALD BOLDLY ATTEMPTS THE REFORM ATmX OF GOLDENTHAL, AND 
ENCOUNTERS PERSECUTION. 

On the next Sunday, after service, the people, as is customary 
in Germany, were assembled under the large lime trees on the 
g-reen. A weig-hty matter had drawn them tog-ether; for not 
only had they to consider how they should raise the taxes about 
to be levied, but also how they should make up old deficiencies 
of payment. The head men of Goldenthal formed the inner 
circle, and around them stood the women and children to hear 
the result of the consultation. • -^ 

Oswald, who had been waiting- for an opportunity of address- 
ing- his fellow-villag-ers on the state of affairs, thought he might 
do so now with advantage, and joined the assembly. When tjtie 
overseers and others had done speaking", he mounted a stone, ^d 
after craving leave to be heard, which was not refused^ he spo» 
as follows : — 

" Dear fellow-villag'ers ! I went away a boy to the field of 
battle, and have returned to you a man. Scarcely can I recog- 
nise my native village : my heart is pained by the alterations I 
find among you. Once our village deserved, indeed, the name of 
Goldenthal. You know that most of the people were once in 
good circumstances ; few were poor, and none were beggar^j;^; we 
could lend money then to our neighbours, and had none ^t tli# 
anxieties and vexations of debtors : our land was well cultivated , 
our cottages were neat and clean, inside and outside. A Golden- 
thaler in those good days was a gentleman, and could, have bor- 



rowed a hundred g-ilders on the bare credit of his word. That 
was the golden age of Goldenthal !" 

Here all the assembly nodded assent, and some exclaimed, 
'' Oswald is right for once !" 

Oswald went on — " 'Tis not so now ! The place should be no 
longer called the Golden Valley, but rather the valley of dirt and 
thorns and thistles. The blessing of Heaven seems to have for- 
saken our fields; some have too much land, others have too 
little; the greater number of you do not improve what you 
have ; you stupify your senses with incessant smoking, or, 
what is worse, drinking; most of you are in debts and diffi- 
culties ; and, being idle, you occupy yourselves in speaking evil 
of your neighbours. Our village has lost its good character, 
and is now known as one of the most intemperate and badly- 
behaved places in the whole country ; and when people wish to 
call any one a good-for-nothing wretch, they say he is a Golden- 
•lialer!" 

* At these plain words there was a muttering of displeasure 
among the hearers, and every brow looked threateningly on 
Oswald. Elizabeth, the miller's daughter, who stood listen- 
ing on the bench before the house, trembled for the perilous 
situation of the too faithful expositor. But he went on — 
" Men of Goldenthal ! if there is still a drop of honourable blood 
in your veins, join your hands and say — ^ the village shall 
be mended!' Whence comes your ruin? From your taverns. 
There your land melts away in liquor, and your cattle are lost 
in gambling. I ask your parish officers where is the public 
money, or where is your strict account of what you have 
done with it ? Why is it that you had rather eat at the pub- 
lic cost than drain the parish land, or mend your neck-breaking 
roads ?" 

Here two or three of the official men called out — " Hold your 
tongue, you vagabond ! If you thus go on speaking evil of the 
e»nstituted authorities, we will send you to the lock-up, with 
brCad and water for eight-and-forty hours !" 

Oswald, however, Avent on — " You can put me into your prison 
no doubt ; but I can also bring you before your superiors. And 

ten I tell them a little of your management, you will perhaps 
less comfortable than I could be with bread and water. But 
I turn to you all, my fellow-villagers ; show me if I have spoken 
falsely, or slandered any person. Ask your consciences whether 
you have done well or ill, whether you have enriched or impo- 
verished yourselves, whether you are notable for honesty and 
piety, or for indolence, fraud, and selfishness. Or, if your con- 
sciences have lost their tongues, look round you and behold your 
tuiliibUng houses and sheds, your barren fields and gardens, jouv 
'Impty purses and chests, your ragged coats and tattered shirts, 
y6tl» destitute-looking children — these are my witnesses against 
you!**** 

5 



THE GOLDMAKERS' TILLAGE. 

The jDreaclier would have said more, but he was hurled from 
the stone by the angry crowd. Some would have proceeded to 
violence ; but Oswald thrust himself through the throng, and, 
having armed himself with a weighty cudgel, threatened severe 
punishment to the first who should dare to lay hands upon him. 
Loud outcries of vengeance pursued him homewards, and stones 
were hurled, one of which inflicted a wound upon his brow. 
But he reached his house without further injury, and there 
washed away the blood from his face, bound up the wound, and 
was soon composed and quiet. Elizabeth, pale and alarmed, came 
to inquire of his wound ; but he assured her it was trifling, and 
bade her dismiss her fears. 

So ended Oswald's first attempt at refonnation ; but he was 
not to be defeated. From the day on which he delivered his 
address, he continued to be the object of many petty persecution's^ 
One night the boys threw stones at his windows ; another nightk' 
they barked six young fruit trees in his garden. When he com- 
plained to the parish officers of these ofifences, they only told 
Mm he had brought ill-will upon himself, and that he deserved 
worse than he got. 

Not daunted with want of success in his exhortation, and pos- 
sessing the ardour of a man convinced of the truthfulness of his 
cause, he now determined on trying to rouse the clergyman to 
adopt his views. Perhaps, thought he, he requires only a little 
coaxing ; he has probably been disheartened without a proper 
reason. Oswald accordingly waited on the pastor, and as ten- 
derly as possible laid before him the condition of the parish, 
waxing bolder, however, as he proceeded. 

Having stated what he considered his case, the old man re- 
plied — "You are quite in a mistake coming to me. I have 
nothing to do with the concerns you mention, nor can I mix 
myself up in your business. All the unhappiness of this village., 
is owing to the sinfulness of the people. They disregard ti»* 
word of God. They defraud me of my dues in every possible 
way. The long-suffering of Heaven cannot endure this much 
longer ; and there must surely come a heavy judgment upon 
them." 

" But, reverend sir," said Oswald, " you can do something 
towards the reformation of these people. Their lives are vicious, 
because their minds are dark and ignorant. If you would encou- 
rage a better regulation of the school, the young might grow up 
well-informed and with good habits, and we should doubtless 
reap good fruit from such a labour." 

The clergyman answered — "That is the schoolmaster's busineMk 
not mine ; I have no time for it. I have enough to do to &tvj 
my sermons." yliJP^ 

Oswald still urged his petition — "Reverend sir, I wtBtl^J 
to have to remind you, that, as a good shepherd, you 4pp^"iind 
to care for every one of your flock. If you did but visif their 

6 



THE GOLDMAKERS' VILLAGE. 

abodes, and see how they have habituated themselves to vice, 
indolence, and misery 5 if you could see the neg-lected children 
who are growing- up in the midst of so many bad examples ; if 
you could " 

Here the old clerg-yman, who had been listening" impatiently 
to the harangue of his visitor, interrupted him by exclaiming", 
*' This is intolerable. You, an unlettered man, come here to lec- 
ture me on my duties ! Pray, what do you take me for ? Do 
you think I am a police-officer, to be poking* about everywhere ? 
The flock should themselves attend to their temporal concerns. I 
am a spiritual pastor, and know my place. Get along- with you; 
and let me hear no more of such impertinence ! " 

Oswald left the parsonag-e disappointed. Pretty nearly at his 
wit's end, he bethought him of taking counsel from the magis- 
trates of the next town, who had a kind of supervisional autho- 
• wity over Goldenthal. Having arrayed himself in his best suit, 
'■ and taken his walking-stick in his hand, he set out for the neigh- 
bouring town, where he expected to find good advisers and 
helpers. On his arrival, he waited on the most respectable public 
characters to lay the condition of Goldenthal before them. But 
the first person he applied to was giving a great dinner, and 
could not attend to the miserable story. Another was just going 
to take a walk, and could not stop. A third was deeply immersed 
in a game of billiards, which required all his thoughts. A fourth 
was reckoning up his accounts, and had no time for any other 
business. A fifth was about to conduct a lady to the dancing 
room, and of course could not be interrupted. The sixth, an old 
gentleman with a white peruke and queue, sitting in an easy 
chair, looked patronisingly on Oswald ; without desiring him 
to be seated, he heard the story he had to tell of the misery of 
Goldenthal, the bad measures of the parish officers, and the igno- 

ice of the schoolmaster — to all which he shook his head very 

ively. 

Encouraged by the interest which he appeared to have excited, 
Oswald next spoke of the indifference of the parson ; but here he 
struck a wrong chord. Looking sternly at his visitor, and his 
neatly-tied queue almost bristling with indignation, the old man 
called on him to stop his false accusations. " You ill-mannered 
rascal," said he, " do you imagine I can sit here to listen to your 
revilements of all authorities, spiritual as well as temporal? I 
suppose you are one of those discontented fault-finding wi'etches 
who are never at rest, but would turn everything topsy-turvy? 
Away with you and your catalogue of grievances, or I will send 

}u to the house of correction. Your clergyman, so far from 
what you represent him, is one of the best of men; for 
own cousin ! " 

^^^^ lis rebuff, Oswald had not the courage to apply else- 
whU^^^ the subject, and he retui'ned sorrowfully to the 
village; - 




THE GOLDMAKERS' VILLAGE. 

in. 

A NEW SCHOOLMASTER — OSWALD'S MODE OF TEACHING THE SUNDAf 

SCHOOL — THE OCCURRENCE AT THE MILL. 

On arriving at Goldenthal, in the afternoon, Oswald told no 
one of the bad result of his journey; but put on a cheerful face, 
and spoke in a friendly way to those whom he met, even to his 
worst enemy, Brenzel, the host of the Lion, who was majestically 
standing with folded arms at the tavern-door. 

^' Good evening, neighbour Brenzel," said Oswald ; " you have^ 
soon done your day's work." .-*.;* i 

" I think I deserve my day's wages at all events," said. -Jj 
Brenzel, " if I stay at home only to drive the beggars from my . j 
door." • 1 

Oswald was disgusted as he heard this unfeeling speech from 
the man, and, without any further conversation, hastened home- 
wards. He was cheered when, approaching the mill, he found 
Elizabeth, the daughter of Siegfried the miller, sitting in the 
shadow of the cherry tree, at the front of the house, and 
sewing. Though he endeavoured to appear cheerful, she saw 
that he was sorrowful at heart, and earnestly questioned him 
of the cause of his grief. " You have been over to the town," 
said she, " and have seen what you like better than any- 
thing at Goldenthal, and now you will not be able to remain 
with us." 

Then Oswald explained to her the cause of his sorrow. He 
did not mean to leave Goldenthal ; but the deterioration of the 
place had grieved him deeply, and he could find none disposed 
to assist him in the work of reformation. As he spoke of the 
sad habits of the villagers, Elizabeth replied, " We have just had 
another instance. Our old schoolmaster, who, you know, was''^ 
a dissipated character, is drowned. Coming home tipsy frpm 
the Eagle, he fell into the pond by the road-side, and was found 
only after life was extinct. Happily, he has left neither wife nor 
child." 

This news seemed to affect Oswald in no small degree. He ^ 
became studious after hearing it, and went home full of thought. H 
Elizabeth could not guess what great matter he was considering ; 
but she discovered it the following Sunday. After service, the 
parishioners were called together to elect a new schoolmaster. 
Oswald attended the meeting. The miller, at the suggestion of 
his daughter Elizabeth, stood at the side of Oswald, ready t(^ .^ 
check him whenever his indignation was in danger of uttdi;in« 
itself too strongly. ^^b 

The first of the parish authorities, Mr Brenzel, opened^ie 
meeting by a speech. As the office of schoolmaster was vacant, 
and was one of the least important in the parish (for the salary 
8 



THE GOLDMAKERS' VILLAGE. 

\ras only forty gilders a-year),* he was happy to be able to 
recommend to the parish a suitable man, willing* to fill the place. 
This was the tailor, INIr Specht, whose trade was very dull, and 
who was, moreover, related to him, the speaker, on the mother's 
side. 

The host of the Eagle came forward to propose, as an amend- 
ment, that his poor cousin Schluck, a lame fiddler, should fill the 
office ; for he was willing to do it, considering the poverty of the 
parish, for a salary of only thirty-five gilders per annum. In 
weighing the qualifications of the candidates, he hoped it would 
be remembered that Mr Schluck had a large family. This, with 
the fact of the saving of five gilders, would doubtless influence the 
,*;votes of the parishioners. 

i Specht the tailor, as he saw that many of the voters were very 
rmuch taken with this tempting offer, came forward to give the 
I fiddler a very bad character, and, further, offered to perform all 
the duties of the office at a salary of only thirty gilders. At this 
the fiddler was so enraged, that he called the tailor by many most 
disgraceful names, and again offered himself at a reduced salary. 
Twenty-five gilders would be enough for him. The tailor, who 
could not go below this, declared he would call Schluck before 
the magistrate to answer for the libels he had uttered, and so 
gave up further competition. 

The voters were accordingly prepared to install the fiddler in 
the office of schoolmaster, when Oswald stood forward and 
spoke — " What ! will you give more to your cow-herd, and even 
to your swine-herd, than to the man to whom you would confide 
the instruction of your children in piety and useful knowledge ? 
Are you not ashamed of such a sin if I know your parish purse 
is empty ; and the poor people, who can hardly gain potatoes and 
salt, let alone bread, cannot afford to pay for schooling. I will 
^make a third offer : I will be your schoolmaster, and demand no 
salary! It shall not cost the parish a farthing: only let me 
have the place." The Goldenthalers looked at each other in 
amazement. Some objected to the proposal : they did not know 
what such a man would teach their children ; perhaps the black 
art! But the majority in the meeting considered chiefly the 
^saving of twenty-five gilders yearly, and cried out that Oswald 
.''should by all means be the schoolmaster. Accordingly, he was 
elected. 

Elizabeth heard the result of the meeting, and felt as if she 
must sink into the earth with shame and confusion. No wonder; 
for, next to the watchman and the swine-herd, no man in the 
jnllage held an office so low in estimation as that of the school- 
' ij^a^ter- Even the sensible miller, Siegfried, shook his head, and 
^aypp." Oswald must have lost his senses!" But Oswald had 
fomed his plan, and kept to his determination. He formally 

• *£3, Gs. 8d. sterling. 



THE GOLDMAKERS' VILLAGE. 

passed an examination ; and as he could write a g-ood hand, and 
knew something* more of accounts than a peasant needed, he was 
considered elig-ible, and appointed by the authorities of the neigh- 
houring' town schoolmaster at Goldenthal. But now he had to 
convince his friends of the propriety of his plan. " Elizabeth," 
said he, '^ do not despair of my undertaking", nor count it a folly. 
You see we can do little for the old people ; let us beg-in with the 
young' ones, and try what we can do with them. A village 
schoolmaster's is indeed a despised office ; but our relig-ion teaches 
us to remember how low the Saviour stooped to teach mankind. 
If our rulers and great men had a better understanding, they 
would be more careful about the appointment of country school- 
masters than of the professors in our colleges. But lowly mat- 
ters are too much neglected ; and the consequence is, the nation 
seems top-heavy, and even thrones stand upon an insecure 
foundation." 

Having formed his resolutions, Oswald was not the man to 
shrink from what he considered his duty. It was no doubt a 
thankless task he was undertaking ; but it is no true benevolence 
which looks about for thanks. Conscious that he was doing 
g'ood to the best of his ability, he felt that his reward would con- 
sist in seeing his ends accomplished. With no fear of the result, 
he made preparations for commencing the profession of teacher, 
and when winter came on, he opened his school. On the first 
day, he placed himself at the door of the school-house, and 
received the children with kind attention. Some had muddy 
shoes, and he bade them clean them before they entered the 
decent school-room. He shook hands with all who came in 
cleanly style, but turned away the dirty hands to be washed. 
Some came with hair uncombed and matted, and were sent home 
to use comb and brush. But all who came combed and washed, 
received from their new teacher a kiss on the brow. The boys 
and girls wondered: some blushed, some laughed, and others 
cried. They had never known such treatment before. Many 
parents complained of these over-nice regulations ; but Oswald 
insisted on them, and in the course of a little time found a good 
result in the decency of his pupils. The refonnation he produced 
in the course of a quarter, by mild and firm management, amazed 
the parents. Some old women broadly hinted that such wonders 
could not be done by fair means : there must be some magic at 
work. Others told a strange story of a rat-catcher somewhere, 
who enticed many children to follow him, and then vanished 
with them all down a hole in a mountain. But the most pre- 
valent report was, that Oswald was teaching the children a 
new religion; and this was so seriously believed, that two" 
official gentlemen from the town were deputed to inspect the 
school. 

The badly-disposed villagers were delighted to hear of this 
commission of inspection, and waited with anxiety to hear that 

10 



THE GOLDMAKERS' TILLAGE. 

Oswald was to be dismissed. The commission came unexpectedly 
one morning- when Oswald was about to open his school ; but 
the appearance of the gentlemen by no means discomposed him, 
for he had nothing to conceal. The visitors, after explaining- 
their object, watched the children as they assembled and took 
their seats in an orderly manner. When all were seated, Oswald, 
as usual, addressed his pupils. 

" Dear children," said he, " let us, before all thing's, bow be- 
fore God our father, and offer our thanksg-ivings and prayers." 
As he spoke, the children, in number fifty-five, folded their 
hands, and fell upon their knees. Oswald then knelt down, 
and the visitors, a little surprised, followed his example. The 
teacher then read a prayer, beautiful, and yet so simple, that 
the child of only six years could understand it ; and one of the 
^visitors, an alderman, was so far moved that tears gathered in 
his eyes. When the prayer was ended, all the children arose, 
axid, guided by the notes and words on a suspended board, 
sang in harmony a morning- hymn. Then the school divided 
itself into classes, under the appointed monitors, and the various 
tasks of the day were studied. One peculiar method of teach- 
ing used by Oswald should be mentioned. The last hour in 
the afternoon he generally occupied by telling the boys and 
girls an amusing" story, in which some useful lesson was con- 
tained. The visitors saw enough of his methods during- the 
day, to be convinced that Oswald was one of the best and 
worthiest teachers in the country, and that all that was said 
against him was a scandal. 

The winter passed away. In the summer the school was 
closed, for the elder boys and girls could then be of service to 
their parents in the fields. But Oswald collected the little ones at 
his house, and gave them a few lessons, or amused them in some 
light occupations about his premises. It was part of his convic- 
tions that instruction in anything without actual training is of 
little use. He therefore tried to train his pupils to industrial 
pursuits, and so lead them to a practical acquaintance with what 
they read of in books. In this way he taught them gardening 
and a knowledge of plants, also various other things which, 
would be useful to them through life. A great point with 
Oswald was to form habits of order and cleanliness in his young 
scholars, and this not only at school, but when out of doors, en- 
forcing his rules with persuasions suited to young minds. Per- 
haps, however, all this was held by him of inferior moment to 
the education of the feelings — a love of the beautiful, the tender, 
and the poetical — for without these the mind remains hard and 
. ^ntractable, and cannot be led to know the finer religious emo- 
tions. How charming was it to see this benevolent man with 
his band of scholars, happy in each other, neither sourness nor 
severity in the master, nor fear in the pupils. It was through- 
out a labour of love : addressed as their dear master, Oswald was 

II 



THE GOLDMAKERS' VILLAGE. 

always ready to encourage and explain. No one dreaded to ask 
him a question. He was their friend not less than their instructor. 
The liappiness in these young* parties drew the attention of the 
elder scliolars, and they beg-g-ed Oswald not to forg'et them. He 
according-ly arrang-ed that they should at times visit his house, 
or walk with him in the fields. On these occasions he opened 
their understanding's to many branches of knowledg-e — among* 
-Others, the wonders of creation and providence, and the nature of 
human society, of which thej had formerly known very little. 
He took care not to be dry or tedious, but mixed up all he said 
with stories of natural historj^, of foreig-n lands and people, of 
wild animals, mountains, seas, and rivers. 

The 3'oung' men of the village heard reports of these pleasant 
conversations, and some of the more curious and intellig'ent 
among them began to seek Oswald's society. He gathered a 
class of these young men, and devoted some part of his leisure 
on Sundays to their instruction, giving them subjects to study 
during the week, and recommending to them suitable books for 
reading'. But while he had such success among the young 
people, many of the leading men in the village remained his 
determined foes. Though they could not understand his mea- 
siu'es, they felt that there was something in them which tended 
to overthrow the existing state of society in Goldenthal. Con- 
sequently, Oswald found little society in the village, except at 
the mill, where he was always welcomed by Elizabeth and 
her parents. 

One evening, when Oswald, as was customary, went to the 
house of the miller, he was received in a style so altered as to 
surprise him. His old friend looked studious and reserved, his 
wife seemed in ill humour, and EHzabeth had a sorrowful and 
anxious face. After a while, her parents left the room, and 
Oswald asked Elizabeth the reason for this cold reception. Her 
'answer was for some moments delayed by sobs and tears. At 
last she told him that, a year ago, Brenzel, the host of the 
Lion, and the richest man in the parish, had asked for her as 
the wife of his eldest son, a dissipated young man. She had 
•claimed of her parents a year for consideration ; but now the 
time had expired, and her father, who wished to see her settled 
in life, was somewhat displeased at her unwillingness. This she 
told with tears, and Oswald understood more than she said. He 
assured her tenderly that long ago he had chosen her as his own 
bride, and she received his confession with great delight. He 
then went to her parents, and while Elizabeth was praying for a 
favourable result of the interview, he gave such an explanation 
of his condition and prospects, that, after a short time, the miller 
came into the room where Elizabeth was sitting, and, joining 
the hands of his daughter and Oswald, pronounced a blessing 
upon the betrothal. To Elizabeth it seemed like a dream— ^.too 
happy to be true. 

12 



THE GOLDMAKERS' VILLAGE. 



IV. 



OSWALD IS STILL UNPOPULAR, BUT ELIZABETH IS WELL SPOKEN OF — 
THE HOST OF THE LION FALLS AND BREAKS HIS NOSE. 

On the following Sunday, when Oswald and Elizabeth were 
named from the pulpit as betrothed, the Goldenthalers stared, 
and there was no little whispering among the women. But the 
host of the Lion immediately went out of the church as angry 
as the wild beast upon his sign, declaring that he would ruin the 
perfidious miller and aU his family. However, in spite of this 
threat, Oswald and Elizabeth celebrated their marriage about 
three weeks afterwards. 

. Soon after the wedding, Oswald said to his bride — " To insure 
our happiness, let us make a threefold vow; first, that there 
shall be no secrets between us ; secondly, that none, not even our 
parents, shall be allowed to interfere between us in any of our 
affairs ; and thirdly, that we will never speak unkindly towards 
each other, no, not even in jest." To these propositions Eliza- 
beth gladly assented. 

It is customary in Germany to utter the voice of congratulation 
in song. Conformably with this ancient usage, Oswald's pupils 
resolved on serenading their beloved master. Oswald and his 
wife, therefore, on the morning after their marriage, were 
awakened by a harmonious hymn of congratulation, and wishes 
of long life and happiness, in which many voices joined. On 
looking out to return thanks for this kindness, Oswald was 
delighted to see so many of his scholars composing the choir. 
He observed, too, several persons standing and pointing to his 
cottage ; for the children had secretly covered the walls with 
garlands in the evening, and even the least of them had brought 
wild flowers from the fields and hedges to add to the display of 
affection. At school, all the children appeared with nosegays 
and wreaths of flowers, as if it was a great festival day. 

Notwithstanding these demonstrations, Oswald was still un- 
popular in the village. The oldest and most experienced people 
found reasons for grave suspicions, not only in his wonderful 
success as a teacher, but also in his sudden marriage with the 
miller's daughter. Such wonders, they were sure, could not be 
done by fair means : there was something supernatural in it. The 
old miller heard all this idle chatter, and only laughed at it ; but 
his wife, though a pious and sensible woman, had her share of 
pride, and could not bear that it should be said she had given her 
daughter to a poor vagabond schoolmaster. Out of patience with 
tiie inquisitive gossip of the hostess of the Eagle, she one evening 
equld not refrain from boasting. " Hold your tongue," said she ; 
" you know nothing about it. Oswald, I tell you, could buy up 
both your husband and the host of the Lion. " I have seen proof 

13 



THE GOLDMAKERS' VILLAGE. 

of what I say ; and, if I might speak, I could tell you such 
thing's of him as would make the hair on your head stand on 
end." 

No sooner had the miller's wife made this idle boast, than 
she repented of it, and extorted from the hostess of the Eag-le 
a promise that it should be kept as a strict secret. So the 
hostess kept it, and mentioned it to nobody, excepting her 
sister and her husband, and these also promised secrecy. They 
only added a little to the story, so that it was soon reported 
that heaps of gold and silver had been seen in Oswald's cottage ; 
that he could buy all Goldenthal if he chose ; and that such 
thing's were done in his house as, if they could be known, would 
make the hair bristle up upon the head like porcupines' quills. 
As the story went round the village, it increased like a snow- 
ball. It was declared that a second Dr Faustus had settled in 
Goldenthal ; that Oswald had sold himself to Satan for thirty 
years ; that he could make gold as fast as he liked ; that he 
had bewitched Elizabeth, and compelled her to marry him; 
that he could call up spirits, discover treasures in the earth; 
and, finally, could, if he Hked, ride through the air on a broom- 
stick ! 

This stupid tale had one advantage for Oswald, as it protected 
him from all other insulting treatment. The respect which they 
would not pay simply to the man of superior wisdom and virtue, 
they were now compelled to pay to the rejouted necromancer. 
Many of the ignorant Goldenthalers secretly crossed themselves 
when they happened to meet the schoolmaster. 

Elizabeth enjoyed a better reputation. The young people did 
not cross themselves when they met her, but enjoyed a friendly 
glance from her face, and secretly blessed her. She became the 
true friend and adviser of all the young maidens in Goldenthal. 
On one occasion, two young damsels about to be married came 
to ask of her the important secret of preserving their beauty, and 
retaining the affections of their husbands. Elizabeth assured 
them that no magic was required to do it. Said she, " If wives 
frequently lose their attraction, and consequently the love of 
their husbands, it is often their own fault. Before they were 
married, they were cleanly and neat, with burnished brows, and 
hair as smooth and glossy as in a painting ; now see them"' 
strolling about in the morning, with stockings hanging loose, 
shoes down in the heels, and papers in their uncombed locks, as 
if they thought slovenliness a proof of a good housewife. Be- 
sure that when the wife goes about in this slothful tawdiy. way, ' 
there is little hope of happiness in the house." 

" But all of us cannot get new clothes so well as you can/* 
said one of the maidens. 

" I use perhaps less than some of you," replied Elizabeth, 
*' because I am careful and punctual in mending, whenever a 
garment requires it." 

14 



THE GOLDMAKERS' VILLAGE. 

Then one of the young* women blushed as she confessed she 
had never learned to sew, but would be g:lad if any one would 
teach her. " I will do so g:ladly," said Elizabeth ; " come both 
of you to me at the time I shall appoint." 

When Oswald heard of this plan, he was delig-hted with the 
benevolence of his wife, and proposed that she should make this 
a beginning" of a school for sewing*. " The waste of materials, 
and the misery of families for want of good domestic knowledge 
in the wives of the poor, cannot be properly counted. It is a 
shame to our country that we have not in every village a sensible 
woman and good housewife appointed to teach poor young 
women good, wholesome, and cheap cookery, as well as plain 
sewing. It would prevent an enormous waste of money, and 
make many marriages happy." 

Elizabeth took the hint, and when her two pupils had invited, 
by their example, a class of young women to meet at the school- 
master's house, the lessons were not confined to sewing and 
knitting, but the kitchen was turned into a school, and the clever 
young wife explained the modes of preparing plain and inex- 
pensive dishes for the family table. Even the aspect of her neat 
and orderly house, filled with decent and well-cleaned furniture 
and utensils of every sort, had a good effect upon the minds 
of these young disciples in domestic economy. All these labours 
gave Oswald and Elizabeth plenty to do ; but still they wished 
to do something more. Already the children had been trained 
to industrial occupations, and now all were taught to plait straw 
for hats and bonnets, and besides, the girls were taught to do 
various kinds of knitting. The long winter evenings which had 
formerly been spent in idleness or foolish sports, were now de- 
voted to these useful occupations. No sight was more pleasing 
than to see happy parties of young straw-plaiters in the kitchens 
of the village cottagers, all laughing or chatting while their 
fingers were busy, or hstening attentively to one who read to 
them by the light of a burning fagot. 

By such services, Oswald and Elizabeth won the affections of 

the young villagers. Still, Oswald could not banish the absurd 

reports about himself. Master Brenzel particularly, the host of 

the Lion, knew that the easiest way to ruin a man is to get up 

Imports that he is not orthodox in his creed, and accordingly 

watched for an opportunity of doing Oswald a serious injury. 

, . At last this determined foe and spy supposed he had found out 

v; -something worthy of a legal scrutiny. Said he, " I have got 

. enough to twist the schoolmaster's neck about. I will compel 

his o-wn mother-in-law to appear against him. As a parish 

officer, I am bound to report what I have heard." 

Accordingly, one Sunday he arrayed himself in his best clothes, 
adjusted a three-cornered hat majestically on his head, took his 
Spanish cane tipped with silver, and pet out with vast strides to 
walk to the town. Not a word did he say to anybody of his 



THE GOLDMAKERS' VILLAGE. 

business, for he feared that, if Oswald caught a whisper of it, 
some serious accident would befall him before he could give in- 
formation of the Goldenthal wizard. As he went along he talked 
to himself, muttering over the speech he had prepared to recite 
to the magistrate, and as the tone of the address rose, he quickened 
his pace, and beat the air with his hands. In his zeal and 
hurry, he got his walking-stick between his legs, and fell over it 
so heavily, that he arose with a nose swollen and discoloured 
like a large plum. " Oswald, surely enough, did that!" he ex- 
claimed, as he recovered his breath. 

As he was "U'iping his face, a gentleman on horseback galloped 
up to him, and asked, " Have you a gentleman named Oswald 
in your village, and where shall I find him ? " 

" Yes ; what do you want with him ? " replied the host of the 
Lion. 

" The prince wishes to see him," said the horseman, and rode 
away towards Goldenthal. 

The host of the Lion gaped wide with amazement. " Wha — 
what ! " he gasped ; " the prince visit Oswald ! " Just then a 
carriage rolled by, drawn by six horses. Brenzel now caught a 
glimpse of a young man in it, dressed in a blue surtout, and with 
a silver star on his breast. 

" Oh dear, dear ! " exclaimed Brenzel. '• The prince means to 
go to the Lion ; I am not at home ; and now he will put up at 
the Eagle ! " So saying, he hurried homewards, running until 
he lost his breath, and getting the fine cane once more between 
his legs, so that he came down again with violence upon his 
already battered nose. Rising up, he hastened on, notwithstand- 
ing the jDain, and found his part of the village quite deserted — 
no prince at the Lion — no prince at the Eagle ; but his kitchen- 
maid came breathless to tell him — " All the people are down at 
the schoolmaster's waiting to see the prince." And there, sure 
enough, he found a crowd in front of Oswald's house. Presently 
the door was opened, the prince appeared walking between 
Oswald and Elizabeth, then kindly shook hands with them, 
stepped into his carriage, and was soon whirled away, leaving 
the spectators more than ever convinced that Oswald was a 
magician. 

" Even great princes come to him for money," said one of the 
sages of Goldenthal when the adventure was talked over. "If-:?: 
I had his deep knowledge, do you think I would live here aiidv^ 
keep school as he does 1 No, I would ride about like the prince^ 
and have my kitchen full of good living, and my cellar- full of 
wine. If I sold myself to Satan, it would be for something 
worth while." • • 

Poverty, like riches, corrupts the heart ; and there w-ej^ some 
poor wretches in Goldenthal, who, while they talked of Os.wald's 
supposed arrangement with Satan, secretly wished that they 
could make as good a barg'ain. 

16 



THE GOLDMAKERS' VILLAGE. 

V. 

THE GOLDMAKERS' CONFEDERACY. 

The inhabitants of Goldenthal, as may be already judged, were 
ill-instructed, and full of the prejudices belonging* to a rude and 
primitive state of things. Never accustomed to observe the 
operation of natural causes, they readily traced all that was re- 
markable to something beyond nature — to magic, or the practice 
of unholy arts. That their neighbour Oswald, a discharged sol- 
dier, with means not above the common, should live in comfort, 
want for no money, and be visited by princes, was to their minds 
supernatural. The report spread by his mother-in-law added 
strength to this wild notion ; and now it was a confirmed belief 
among- many that he could derive his wealth only by an inter- 
course with evil spirits ; perhaps, as has been already hinted, he 
had, like Dr Faustus, .sold himself body and soul to the great 
enemy of mankind. 

Worked on by necessity, a number of the poorest men in 
Goldenthal, unknown to each other, began to cultivate Oswald's 
friendship. Seizing on favourable opportunities, they, one after 
the other, visited him privately, and hinted that they required 
his advice respecting their circumstances. They had evidently 
a mighty secret, which they longed to utter. At last one ven- 
tured to speak out, and said, " Oswald, you can make gold ; teach 
me to do it. I am so poor, that I care for nothing, not even 
to see Beelzebub in proper person. I am, in short, ready to 
strike any bargain to get out of my poverty." Oswald was 
amazed at the folly and impiety of this confession. But for 
some time he hardly knew what to say to men so ignorant and 
vicious. 

Having at length, after some time for deliberation, formed a 
scheme by which he might take advantage of the men's willing- 
ness to work out any plan he might suggest, he told them all 
individually that he was prepared to teach them the art of gold- 
making, and that for this purpose they must come to his house 
on a certain evening, a short time before midnight. All, as a 
matter of course, gladly promised to attend. 
•■• Accordingly, on the appointed night, the would-be gold- 
'-TCakers arrived at Oswald's house, each supposing himself a 
solitary visitor, and all were conducted into one room in entire 
darkness. Every one shuddered as he felt others near him, 
and all stood together in the darkness in breathless terror until 
the church clock struck twelve. Then suddenly the door was 
opened,, and Oswald walked in arrayed in full military costume, 
with a feather in his cap, a sword at his side, and bearing two 
candles in- his hands. He found thirty-two visitors present, all 
looking ashamed of their mutual recognition and terrified at 

17 



THE GOLDMAKERS' VILLAGE. 

the appearance of one whom they believed to be closely allied 
with evil demons. But Oswald looked on them with a very 
serious face, and began to speak — " Look at me, unhappy men, 
and see who I am. I follow no black art. I am a worshipper 
of God. In God's way only is prosperity to be found. But 
you have been far out of that way. You have been drunken 
lazy wretches, cruel to your wives and children, and now 
you are in debt and misery. Will you let me help you? If 
you would be as rich as I am, do as I do ! " So saying, he 
poured upon the table a heap of gold from a bag. The 
men all stared with dazzled eyes; their hearts beat and flut- 
tered fearfully. Oswald continued — " You have come to learn 
how to make gold. I will teach you. But you must serve an 
apprenticeship of seven years and seven weeks. He who ob- 
serves my lessons for that time, shall at the end have more gold 
to spare than you see now upon this table. But, I tell you, my 
rules will be hard to obey, unless you turn your hearts and 
become new men." 

All the listeners, in anxious silence, stared on Oswald's 
face, as if he were their judge just about to pronounce their 
doom. 

" Now, hear my rules for gold-making," said he, "to be kept 
for the space of seven years and seven weeks. If any of you will 
not observe these rules, let him depart." Not one moved from 
his place ; so Oswald delivered the following rules for gold- 
making : — 

"l.You shall avoid all taverns, and regularly attend the 
church. 

2. You shall play no games with cards, dice, &c. nor gamble 
in any way. 

3. You shall use no oaths, nor lying and slanderous words. 

4. Every day you shall have prayers in your families, and 
labour industriously. 

5. You shall consume neither wine nor brandy, and be strictly 
temperate in everything, not even smoking tobacco. 

6. You shall suffer no weeds to stand in your gardens, nor 
rubbish to lie in your houses. 

7. You shall keep your own persons and those of your chil- 
dren clean and decent. 

By this last sign I shall know if you are faithful. Now, if 
you will promise to observe these rules for the time mentioned, 
step forward and join hands with me." 

One after another came forward and reached his arm over 
the pile of gold on the table, and clasped Oswald's hand, 
and said, " I will ! " At length all the men present made the 
promise. 

" Now," said Oswald, " go to your homes, and remember 
that you have entered into a confederacy for well-doing. _ W© 
are all, henceforth, to be as one man in the cause. Each is to 

18 



THE GOLDMAKERS' VILLAGE. 

support the otlier. If any is weak, we will help him. Fare- 
well."* 

In silence the men departed and soug-ht their respective homes. 
None of them was but surprised at the unexpected turn which 
aiFairs had taken, and individually, they might have rejected the 
plan pointed out for their acceptance; they were, however, 
pledged to each other, and shame, if nothing else, would keep 
them from breaking their promise. It is at least certain that 
one and all acted on Oswald's midnight injunction. Next morn- 
ing, considerately advised by Oswald, they set about divers little 
reforms in and about their dwellings, also in their outward ap- 
pearance. 

* This confierence and its objects remind us of an anecdote in Scottish 
social history. When James I. visited Scotland in 1617, he found his old 
friend Thomas, first earl of Haddington, who at the time filled the ofiice 
of president of the Court of Session, exceedingly rich, and that there was 
a general belief of his having discovered the Philosopher's Stone — the art 
of gold-making. James, who was in the habit of nicknaming all his cour- 
tiers, had given the earl the familiar title of Tam o' the Cowgate, from Ids 
residing in a street of that name. Highly taken with the idea that Tarn 
had possessed himself of the enviable talisman of the Philosopher's Stone, 
he was not long in letting his friend and gossip know of the story which 
he had heard respecting him. Whether the lord president was offended 
at the imputation, has not been recorded ; but it is probable that he took 
it in good part, as he immediately invited the king and the rest of the 
company present to come to his house in the Cowgate next day, when he 
would both do his best to give them a good dumer, and lay open to them 
the whole mystery of the Philosopher's Stone. This agreeable invitation 
was of course accepted ; and the next day accordingly saw his house 
thronged with the gay and gorgeous figures of England's king and cour- 
tiers, all of whom the president feasted to their heart's content. After 
dinner, the king reminded him of his Philosopher's Stone, and expressed 
the utmost anxiety to be speedily made acquainted with so rare a trea- 
sure, when the pawky lord addressed his majesty and the company in a 
short speech, concluding with this information, that his whole secret lay 
in two simple and familiar maxims — " Never put off till to-morrow what 
can be done to-day ; nor ever trust to another's hand what your own can 
execute." He might have added, from the works of an illustrious con- 
temporary, 

" This only is the witchcraft I have used." 

The guests, who expected to find the earl's talisman of a more tangible 
character, were perhaps disappointed that the whole matter turned out to 
be mere words ; but the king, who could appreciate a good saying, took 
up the affair more blithely, and complimented his host upon the means 
he had employed in the construction of his fortune, adding, that these 
admirable apothegms should henceforth be proverbial, under the appel- 
lation of " Tam o' ilie Coicgate's Philosopher'' s Stone.^^ The king appears to 
have been obeyed in this by his Scottish subjects with more readiness 
than he found in certain other of the edicts which he issued upon the 
occasion of his visit to Scotland ; for, long after the Episcopal forms of 
'W'orship which he then engrafted upon Presbytery had passed away and 
been forgotten, Tam o' the Cowgate's Philosopher's Stone was remembered 
with satisfaction, and it has even been used as an adage within the recol- 
lection of aged persons still alive. 



THE GOLDMAKERS' VILLAGE. 

"What is the matter? Is the prince coming again?" ex- 
claimed the lame old village watchman as he went his round 
the next morning, and saw several men dressed more decently 
than was usual. Besides, there were other wonders in Golden- 
thai — washing, sweeping, and rubbing of windows, doorways, 
tables, and benches ! 

And this marvel did not suddenly die away ; but from week to 
week new causes of wonder arose for all the Goldenthalers who 
were not in the secret of the goldmakers' confederacy. The 
taverns began to look deserted. The court for ninepins on Sun- 
day echoed neither to rolling balls, curses, nor laughter. Cards 
and dice lay almost undisturbed. Those who had been the most 
frequent visitors at the taverns, now employed their evenings 
with their wives and children, or in looking over their fields. 
The host of the Eagle, when he saw his benches almost empty on 
Sunday, nearly shed tears of vexation as he exclaimed, '■' Have 
all the people lost their senses ? There must be some amendment 
of this — such a sad state of things must not be tolerated!'' Bren- 
zel, too, joined loudly in the complaint. Said he, "This is an 
infamous conspiracy against me ! " The reformation in his 
parish attracted the attention even of the old parson, and he 
dated it all from the delivery of one of his longest sermons. 
Enraged that the clergyman should acknowledge the change of 
manners as an improvement, the two publicans almost entirely 
left their places in the church. 

YI. 

ACCOUNTS ARE EXAMINED — THE SAVINGS' BOX — THE SOUP-KITCHEN — 

TAVERNS SHUT UP. 

As the year passed on, several members of the goldmakers' 
party came to the schoolmaster, complaining that, though they 
had attended to all his rules of economy, they were encumbered 
with old debts, and threatened with expulsion from theu' houses. 
Oswald looked carefully into all their accounts. The disorderly 
and melancholy state in which he found them gave him great 
trouble ; but he toiled through them. He then helped the poor 
people to reckon up their earnings, their expenditure, and the 
sums they could contrive to lay by for the payment of their old 
debts. Some families he helped by finding employment for the 
young people in the town. 

Having, in the course of his reading, learned the nature of 
savings' banks, Oswald thought there was a good opportunity of 
establishing one in the village. He therefore collected a number 
of persons, among the rest the members of the confederacy, and 
explained to them how one of these banks might be set up. All 
agreed that it might answer, if Oswald would undertake its 
management. This he very willingly consented .to do. The 
savings' bank was begim, and the money which was collected 
20 ' 



THE GOLDMA.KERS' VILLAGE. 

was lent at interest to those who needed it, and who could be 
trusted. 

The getting of interest was a new thing to so many of the 
villagers, that they became zealous in saving, and were even so 
economical as to be disposed to rob themselves and their children 
of necessary food. This suggested to Oswald a new means of 
economy. He jDersuaded his mother-in-law, with the help of 
others, to prepare soup for the poor families, for which they paid 
a very low price, and so gained food at a great saving of time 
and expense in fuel and cookery. Soon this plan was found to be 
so beneficial, and became so popular, that the host of the Eagle 
opened a rival soup-kitchen. This, however, did not succeed 
well, nor did it deserve to do, for the publican thought only of 
his own interest. With all their poverty, the Goldenthalers had 
been famous for their propensity to litigation, and just now the 
host of the Eagle tavern was engaged in a lawsuit about an old 
oak tree which, he thought, belonged to his land. It had already 
cost him a thousand gilders ; and now he was led on and on until 
he was compelled to sell his house and fields to pay his lawyers 
and other creditors. This, however, brought good to Golden- 
thai, for the Eagle was now shut up, and the Lion left alone. 

The number of well-doers was now so greatly increased, that 
Oswald was not exposed to the same ungracious persecutions he 
once was. Still, there was an old set, confirmed in bad habits 
and prejudices, who shook their heads at the signs of the times, 
and said — " 'Tis plain the village is going to ruin. There is only 
one public-house supported. Alas ! we once had three ! " Oswald 
reproved their mistake, and told them that the Lion and the 
Eagle were ravenous wild beasts that had fed on the substance of 
the community too long. When Brenzel heard that the school- 
master had called the Lion a wild beast, he was ready to burst 
with anger, and threatened an action for damages ; but Oswald 
kept out of the claws of the Lion. 



VII. 

A THUNDER-STORM — THE NEW CLERGYMAN. 

About this time there was a terrible storm one night. All the 
sky seemed as if in flames. The thunder rolled, houses shook, 
and windows clattered. A terrible flash of lightning burst upon 
the parsonage, and blazed around the building ; but happily no 
part caught fire. Yet so severe was the shock of alarm to the 
poor old clergyman, that he was very ill, and in the course of a 
few days he died. The ignorant Goldenthalers laid the blame 
upon the government, for forbidding the ringing of the church- 
J)ells in thunder-storms. "We might have rung the thunder 
away," said some of the old ones. Oswald showed them the 
error of their notion, and taught them the cause of thunder, and 

21 



THE GOLDMAKERS' VILLAGE. 

the use of the lightning conductor. He fitted one to his own 
house, and the miller followed his example. This, again, dis- 
pleased some, who said it was an impious follj, and asked, 
" Cannot the Almighty send his lightning wherever he pleases V* 
Oswald took pains to correct this mistake, and showed them the 
right way of trusting in Providence, and still making use of all 
proper means of averting danger. His doctrine was new and 
strange ; hut it happily made some converts. 

To supply the place of the deceased parson, a young preacher, 
named Roderick, was appointed to Goldenthal. " What can 
such a hoy as that do for us '? " said some of the old people, when 
they saw the new parson, who was about twenty-seven years of 
age ; and when they had heard him, they added, " Ah, we see our 
new parson is one of the newfangled preachers. "VVe can under- 
stand every word that he says. What is the good of that ? He is 
not learned enough : he should go more deeply into things. Our 
worthy old parson was a different man : he could preach for an 
hour and a half far beyond our undei'standings. It was quite 
delightful to hear him ! " 

Fortunately, there were some in Goldenthal who could better 
estimate the new parson, and they found him a pious, worthy, 
and learned man, though young. He was sociable, and yet 
serious ; humble in deportment, and yet commanding respect ; 
full of patience ; and when he spoke reproof, it was still the 
voice of love. Soon after his arrival in Goldenthal, he visited 
every family in his parish. His manifest kindness infused 
confidence into the minds of his people; he heard their com- 
plaints, overruled their dissensions, attended to all their wants, 
and visited most frequently the poorest and the lowest of 
his flock. On Sunday, in the pulpit, he spoke so that every 
hearer believed the discourse to be addressed especially to 
himself. 

Great was the delight of this good young clergyman on his 
first visit to Oswald's school. The cleanliness, quietness, and 
good order of the children pleasingly surprised him. As Oswald 
knelt down to oiFer his prayer of thanksgiving' and adoration, 
the visitor knelt beside him, and tears fell from his eyes as 
Oswald prayed for the children. When this devotional ex- 
ercise was over, he addressed to Oswald the warmest expres- 
sion of thanks for the attention he had paid to the young. 
*^ Excellent man!" said he, "you have here sown good seed 
for eternity : may I be able to follow your example ! If ever I 
am discouraged in my duties, I shall come here and be a scholar 
myself." 

And now, when the children found that the new parson so 
highly esteemed their teacher, their love and admiration of 
Oswald rose higher than before, and the consequence was, the 
school prospered more rapidly than ever. Roderick was a healer 
of the bodies as well as the souls of his people. He turned them 

22 



THE GOLDMAKERS' VILLAGE. 

from the error of their fantastic ways of dealing- with some 
diseases by spells, charms, &c. ; and as he had studied medicine 
so as to know the remedies for many common complaints, he 
wroug-ht so many good cures, that the poor people had great 
confidence in him. Thus he followed his Master, " healing- the 
sick, and preaching the kingdom of heaven.'' He was also skil- 
ful in many other useful things ; for he had considered in his 
youth that no knowledge of the affairs of life ought to be 
neglected by the country parson. Among other things, he waa 
skilled in the management of bees, and had brought some very 
choice hives to Goldenthal. And the result of his endeavours to 
introduce the care of bees among the pebple was, that, in the 
course of a few years, Goldenthal was famous in all the neigh-» 
bouring towns for its rich and luscious honey. 

He knew how to divide his attention well between the souls 
and bodies of his people ; and as he attended to their comfort in 
their houses, he laboured to refine and elevate their minds by the 
services at church. He determined to reform their practice of 
singing in church, which had been coarse, violent, and noisy. 
Every one had been accustomed to bawl with all his might, as if 
he would crack the windows or raise the roof; and the old people 
were so attached to this custom, that they thought the praise of 
God could be sung in no other way. Oswald had made a refor- 
mation among the young, and had taught them to sing with 
him at school harmoniously, in four parts. Some of the old 
people admired this style of singing in the school ; but still they 
thought nothing but the old style of bawling would do for the 
church. But the young parson determined to quell the storm of 
discord which offended his ears, and therefore he proposed that 
service should be opened by the children singing alone. This 
was done ; but by degrees some of the adults were tempted to 
join softly in the tune, which was just as Oswald and Roderick 
desired; and, in course of time, such a right feeling for true, 
harmonious, and devotional singing was spread among the people, 
that the whole congregation united their voices so softly and 
well, that the harmony from the choir of children was heard 
distinct from the general sound, and with a solemn and devo- 
tional effect. 

vni. 

THE GOLDENTHALERS WIN GOOD FAME A NEW OVERSEER — 

DEBTS TO BE PAID. 

We pass over a space of time during which Roderick and 
Oswald were labouring to confirm and extend the good work of 
reformation which they had begun. And what was the result ? 
Good credit was restored to Goldenthal, and a favourable report 
of the village was spread throughout the neighbouring country, 

23 



THE GOLDMAKERS' VILLAGE. 

The hemp, flax, grain, veg-etables, and fruit brought to market 
from Goldefithal were all so g'ood as to raise surprise. The butter 
was exquisite and abundant. In short, the village rose so rapidly 
in public estimation, that the surrounding* townspeople joking'ly 
styled it the " Goldmakers' Village.'" 

Some mig-ht suppose that Oswald, who was the spring of every 
good movement among the people, had burdened himself and 
his good wife with too many offices ; but he knew better how to 
arrange his affairs. He had fomid out among his pupils, and 
trained for the service, a youth able to take the greater part of 
the labour of the school. This young man's name was John 
Heiter, and, as a teacher, he soon became almost as much beloved 
by the pupils as Oswald. 

The confederacy of the thirty-two stood firm to their principles, 
and made converts by their examples ; but still there were several 
idle and miserable men in Goldenthal, who arrayed themselves 
against every improvement ; and at the head of these poor crea- 
tures stood the host of the Lion, the misguided Brenzel. Great 
was the wrath and vexation of this stubborn man when Oswald 
and an honest industrious man named Ulrich Stark were elected 
to fill two vacancies in the board of guardians for the village. 
But he disguised his anger as well as he could, and paid a visit 
to Oswald, congratulating him upon his election. 

But now, at the first meeting of the guardians, when Oswald 
and Ulrich Stark proceeded to business, they first demanded a 
rigid examination of the account-books. Here all was in the 
greatest disorder. The parish still owed about seven thousand 
gilders, and of this half was owing to the host of the Lion, who 
received five per cent, interest on the capital he had lent, while 
he payed only four per cent, for sums he had borrowed from th,e 
same funds, which was clearly unjust. Great expenses had been 
caused by all kinds of trifling visits and little affairs of business, 
which honourable men would have done gratuitously^ In shoi^, 
the whole of the accounts bore strong testimony agaiiist the sel- 
fishness and fraud of the late managers of the parish property, 
and none was so seriously criminated as the host of the Lion. 
Oswald made out such a dark account against this man, that 
the haughty and despotic Brenzel had to humble himself and 
supplicate for mercy. But Oswald determined, in juistice to tlje 
poor, the widows, and the orphans, to refer the whole business 
to the proper legal authorities, by whom the accounts of Golden- 
thai parish were scrutinised ; and the consequence was, that a 
warrant was issued against the host of the Lion, his goods were 
seized, and he was condemned to imprisonment. 

Oswald was now almost master of the parish ; but his jiosition 
was not an easy one. He had many hard journeys to perform, 
and much opposition and misrepresentation to endure before he 
could avert the dangers which had threatened the ill-i^gulated 
place. His first task was to diminish the burden of the debt 

24 



THE GOLDMAKERS VILLAGE. 

Still lying upon the people — above six thousand gilders. For this 
purpose he commenced a valuation of all the land in Goldenthal, 
that it mig-ht be known what were the real circumstances of 
every parishioner, and what the amount of taxes he ought to 
pay. He next determined that a better use should be made of 
the land, which was common parish property, and thus he ex- 
plained his plan to his fellow-parishioners : — " You know that 
this common land is of little service to the poor at present. It 
is trodden down by the cattle belonging to those who are com- 
paratively rich. This is not fair. Every man in the parish has 
a right to a share of it ; but now those who do not keep any 
cattle derive no benefit from it. Let us have it portioned out, 
and fairly cultivated." This proposition was met by murmurs 
and objections from those interested in unfair usages; but the 
majority were with Oswald, and the motion was carried. The 
rich farmers appealed to government against Oswald's innova- 
tion, but the only answer they received was — " The common 
belongs to the parishioners, and not to the cows of Goldenthal ; 
and every peasant may claim his portion, and make use of it as 
he pleases. You are not so careful to preserve the ancient rights 
of your parish, as to defend your own selfish practices." 

The following spring found a great improvement in the waste 
land of Goldenthal. Gardens were now blooming where lately 
the cattle had grazed upon scanty herbage. Hops, beans, hemp, 
flax, cabbages, potatoes, clover, and corn, were flourishing on the 
newly-broken ground. Even the farmers who had opposed Os- 
wald's plan confessed that its result was indeed cheering, for the 
poor people were becoming more industrious, and paying their 
old debts. Next, Oswald turned his attention to the forest land 
belonging to the parish, and called a meeting of the Goldenthalers 
to consider another new project. He explained to them that 
he had observed a sad waste of wood in the village. " Other 
jlkrishes," said he, "consume less of this valuable article for 
household purposes, because they have public ovens, where 
one fire does the work of a hundred. Why cannot we follow 
their example ? To burn wood as we do, is to burn gold." An- 
other of the parish ofiicers observed, that in some villages there 
were also public washing-houses, which he would also recom- 
mend to the people of Goldenthal for their convenience and 
economy. These propositions were approved of by the meeting ; 
and next, Oswald led them to consider for what profitable use they 
might employ the spare wood, so as to make it help towards the 
payment of their debts. After some opposition, a good plan was 
agreed upon, and the profits realised in one year by the erection 
of public ovens and washing-houses, as well as the economy of 
fuel, surprised all those who had never before turned their atten- 
tion to such speculations. 

And now, as the parish debt was melting away, and many of 
the Goldenthalers who had once been clothed in rags showed 

25 



THE GOLDMAKERS' VILLAGE. 

themselves in decent apparel at the market, the townspeople 
imag'ined that not a sing-le beg-g-ar was to be found in Goldenthal. 
But this was too g-ood yet to be true. Some of the old race re- 
mained, and refused to be improved. There were still too many 
who preferred begging- to any honourable labour ; and even able- 
bodied men and women were to be found who would not only 
live by begging themselves, but would marry and bring up 
children in beggary. Such disorders grieved the heart of the 
worthy young parson, and he had many consultations with 
Oswald regarding the best mode of remedy. " Unless we remove 
this great evil," said he, " our prosperity will have a worm at its 
root, and soon decay." 

The 'Spital, as the poor-house was called, was a miserable place, 
where the poor had been huddled together like cattle in a fold, 
without any discrimination of age, sex, character, or state of 
health, and there kept without any proper supervision, and sup- 
plied with no useful employment. Roderick had often visited 
the place, and was resolved that such a nursery of idleness and 
vice should no longer defile and disgrace his parish. A list was 
prepared of all the people unable to support themselves. The 
'Spital was reformed, and changed into quite another house. A 
large kitchen was made, w^here the cooking for all the inmates 
might be done. Separate rooms were established for the men 
and the women respectively, and two chambers set apart for the 
sick. A separate sleeping-cell, too, was provided for every 
healthy person. Into the newly-arranged house all persons who 
had no houses were conducted, as well as the children of such 
families as had no decent accommodation at home. Children 
were left with their parents in all cases where this could be done 
without peril to the health of both their bodies and their minds. 

Suitable persons were appointed to visit all the families receiv- 
ing from the parish relief in their own houses, and regular reports ■ 
were given by these visitors to Roderick and Oswald. All -the •' 
paupers who could labour were compelled to do so in support of 
the funds of the 'Spital ; and if any one refused to do his duty, he 
was condemned to imprisonment, and supplied only with bread 
and water. This regulation soon exposed the distinction between 
the worthless and those who were willing to become useful mem^ 
bers of society. The land attached to the 'Spital was laid out in 
gardens, and soon showed signs of good cultivation. Every 
pauper was obliged to contribute a certain amount of the produce 
of his allotment to the common fund, but with permission to 
raise more for his own purposes. Abundant work was found for 
all who were strong in mending the roads, draining the boggy 
parts of the forest, felling- trees, planting, clearing the water- 
courses, and other ways. There was in-door work too for rainy 
weather, and for the women. They were required to keep all the 
furniture in the 'Spital in good order, and to keep themselves 
employed with spinning, knitting, and sewing. By such 

26 



THE GOLDMAKERS' VILLAGE. 

measures, enforced by a constant, kind, and watchful supervi- 
sion, the 'Spital was transformed into a comfortable abode, and a 
nursery of industrious habits. And all this was soon done with- 
out any expense to the parish. The inmates of the house were 
soon able to prepare and cook their own food, repair their clothes, 
and to manufacture goods which found a sale. Their minds also 
improved as their physical condition was elevated by decency, 
industry, and orderly habits. Koderick conducted divine wor- 
ship in the '"Spital on several evenings in the week ; and the in- 
mates were taught not only to respect themselves, and do justice 
to their neighbours, but also to be humble and devout before 
their Maker and Saviour. 

It should be observed, that every inmate was at liberty to leave 
the house whenever he thought proper, provided that he could 
show that he had a fail* prospect of otherwise honourably sup- 

Eorting himself and those belonging* to him. Thus many who 
ad been burdens to themselves and to the parish, by kind and 
prudent means, well carried out, were restored to the happy con- 
dition of being willing and able to support themselves, and con- 
tribute to the welfare of society at Goldenthal. 



IX. 

SOMETHING NEW AGAIN. 

"What can Oswald be scheming now?" said some of the 
people when the reformer began to devote his evenings to the 
measurement of their farms. He was walking about with the 
schoolmaster, John Heiter, stretching the chain, or looking over 
the tops of the stakes he had fixed in the ground. " What can 
.%\l this mean?" asked the people. 

i. In the course of some months, Oswald had prepared a 
complete map of all the land in the parish, with every stile, 
hou^e, and path. This was suspended in the parish vestry, 
and many went to wonder at it every day, until Oswald as- 
se^ibled the principal land proprietors to hear an explanation 
9f his design. 

" Here," said he, " is a plan of all your lands, which our school- 
master, assisted by some of the boys, has made out for us. I will 
now explain my purpose. When I surveyed the fields which 
you have cultivated with hard labour, I could not but observe 
that some of them yield less than they ought to do with good 
management, and, in many instances, a great part of the labour 
and expense of cultivation might be spared. I propose to render 
your plans more economical, by saving, in the first place, tune. 
As yeu have bought your several parcels of land at various times, 
I find that they He widely scattered, so that a man has to cross 
the parish sometimes to go from one of his fields to another. 

27 



Here is a great waste of time. One of you has a small piece of 
land on the hill-side, then another patch behind the wood, another 
near the high road, and still another patch on the other side of 
our rivulet. Thus a great part of the day is spent in walk- 
ing- to and fro ; and this loss of time by every man employed on 
the land, and also by your cattle drawing manure, &c. must, 
when summed up, appear a very serious matter at the end of the 
year. Now, if all these scattered pieces of land could be gathered 
into one compact allotment, would not there be a great saving of 
time, labour, and expense ? " 

All assented ; but some suggested that it was not easy to carry 
land about. Oswald went on to explain his plan. 

" My plan has its difficulties," said he ; " but only be fair and 
obliging to each other, and as you can see now how much land 
belongs to each of you, I would suggest that you may, with 
mutual advantage, make exchanges of land, so as to have al^;; 
your farms more compact. The advantage will surely be great. '■* 
Throw aside selfishness ; do the thing that is just ; take time fop 
consideration, and I believe you will carry the plan into effect 
for the good of the parish." 

Some shook their heads, and said it was impossible ; yet they 
began to study it at their homes. It became the most popular 
entertainment during the winter to discuss the proposed measure; 
and in the spring several g'ood arrangements were made. Then, 
when some of the small farmers found the profit of having their 
lands together, others became anxious to share in the improve- 
ment : the map was studied every evening, and the divisions of 
land were soon more conveniently disposed for cultivation. Per- 
severance in good plans carried on improvement in Goldenthal, 
tmtil it indeed deserved its name. It was a golden valley. The 
village lay in the midst of fruitful gardens, orchards, meadowsy"^ 
and golden corn-fields. The foot-paths over the fields were keplir 
smooth and clear from weeds, and the roads throughout" ^e 
parish were ornamented with fruit trees. The village lot)ked 
like a flourishing little town. Every house had shining windows, 
a polished door, a roof of tiles, a little flower garden, and a hive 
of bees. The people were well clothed, and their cheerful faces 
told that they lived happily together. Many had brown, sun-? 
burnt faces ; but strength and health were smiling from theip'.,. 
eyes. The young men of the neighbouring villages looked wist- 
fully at the maidens of Goldenthal, and even the sons of respect- 
able farmers thought they did well to obtain the hand of one of 
these maidens, who supplied the want of money with genuine 
household virtues. 

After service on Sunday, Goldenthal presented a scene of true 
rural happiness. Parties of friends and relatives assembled in 
the houses, or sat in the gardens enjoying fruit, honey, milk, and 
other pastoral luxuries. The village became a favourite place of 
resort for the respectable people of the town ; and even in winter, 

28 



THE GOLDMAKERS' VILLAGE. 

skating" parties would meet at Goldenthal. Under the guidance 
of Heiter, the schoolmaster, the young" choir had attained such 
proficiency, as to be able to sing" choral pieces, such as could 
seldom be heard even in the neighbouring* towns. Thus the 
young people, supplied with innocent and intellectual amuse- 
ments, and shut out from many temptations, were able to spend 
their evenings in summer and in winter, without feeling any- 
thing of that dulness and want of occupation by which mauy are 
led into intemperance and other vices. 

As may be supposed, there were some who were disposed to 
mar the good results of Oswald's labours. A number of the 
village peasants, as they became more wealthy, were tempted to 
vanity. Some of their daughters dressed too gaily ; while some 
of the men indulged in the wine-flask, or at the billiard table. 
. But this conduct aroused the fears of all the well-disposed inha- 
Mlbitants, and, taught by experience, they foresaw in such vanities 
'"*' and indulgences the first tendency to go backwards. When 
fully aware of the evil, there were grave deliberations on the 
subject; and a species of union was formed, of persons who 
agreed to abide by certain regulations as to dress and manners. 
This movement had the desired effect ; the force of public opinion 
suppressing the tendencies to vice and disorder. Every year the 
regulations were read aloud in the church to the congregation, 
and such additions were made from time to time as seemed neces- 
sary. After the reading, the question was put to all, old and 
young, men, women, and children, in the assembly — " Will you 
stand by this code of laws, which is the foundation of all our 
prosperity, happiness, and honour ? " And all the people answered 
with one accord, with a loud voice, that they would. Thus the 
integrity of the parish was preserved. 



X. 

THE BAPTISM OF OSWALD's CHILD. 

And now Oswald was truly happy ; for his Elizabeth presented 
to him a fine healthy son. He went to carry the news to his 
'friend the new host at the Lion, who was one of the faithful mem- 
bers of the confederacy. " Friend," said Oswald, " I think I 
have never yet asked you to bestow a favour upon me. Now I 
must do it. My wife has just given me a son and heir. I can- 
not leave her and go to the town ; but I require, for a certain 
purpose, the loan of five hundred gilders — only for eight days." 

" Of course I will lend them," said the host of the Lion ; " but 
I have not all that in gold." 

" Let it be gold if you can," said Oswald ; " see what you can 
do, and bring it to my house to-morrow evening exactly at eight 
o'clock. But say nothing of it to anybody." 

29 



THE GOLDMAKERS' VILLAGE. 

In the same way Oswald called upon every one of the two-and- 
thirty men who had made the promise to keep the seven rules. 
To each of them He addressed the same petition, and appointed 
the same time and place for receiving* the money. All these 
friends met at Oswald's house at the hour of dusk, and were con- 
ducted into a chamber almost dark. Oswald went out to fetch 
candles, and in a few minutes returned, arrayed in a military 
costume, with star, sword, and feather, just as he had appeared 
to them in the same room seven years before. " Have you 
brought the money, my friends ?" said he ; " please to lay it upon 
the table." One after another stepped forward, and laid his heap 
of money upon it. 

Then Oswald spoke : — " Remember, my friends, that now your 
time of probation has expired. The seven years and seven weeks^ % 
are gone. And now you have placed more gold upon this table-. "> 
than lay upon it on the night ot our engagement. My promise 
is fulfilled : I have taught you the art of goldmaking. And now 
abide faithful to God and your own vows ; so shall your welfare 
increase from day to day. Bring up your children by the same 
rules, and your welfare will descend to them." Many expres- 
sions of hearty gratitude broke forth as Oswald ceased speaking. 
He now returned the money to those who were so willing to lend, 
assuring them that he did not need it. " Then what can we do 
for you to express our thankfulness ?" said several at once. " Only 
tell us, and we are ready to go through fire to serve you ; for 
without you we should have been ruined." 

Then Oswald answered — " I thank you for your sincere friend- 
ship ; but I have no need of assistance of any kind. Thanks to 
a worthy man, my good father, who gave me a fair edu- 
cation. When a soldier, I found all that I had learned useful, 
and my knowledge of land-measurement, next to my good con* ^ 
duct, procured for me promotion to the rank of captain of horse. 
In a skirmish, when the prince was surrounded by foes, I dashesj 
in with my squadron and rescued him. I received for that 6er- 
vice this wound on my brow, and the star on my breast, with a 
good pension for life. The prince has never forgotten me, but, as 
you have seen, has condescended to visit me here in Goldenthal. 
When I returned to my native village, and found it in such 
miserable circumstances, I thought it prudent to disguise my 
real condition. I soon lost all desire of living in Goldenthal, 
and should have gone away had I not seen Elizabeth, my dear 
wife: she kept me in the place. Then I resolved to do my 
utmost towards improving the place where I chose to dwell. To 
carry out my plan, I hid my wealth and rank from all except 
my wife and her parents. And now," he added, " let this dis- 
covery of my station in the world make no diiference.in your 
intercourse with me : you are my brethren, and the titl0nj|,j||y^ll 
be proudest of, will be to be called jouv friend !" ^ 

" Then," said the chief speaker of the company, " if we can ex- 

30 



THE GOLDMAKERS' VILLAGE. 

press our thanks in no other way, we and our families will attend 
your child's baptism, and make the day a festival in all our 
houses !" 

Sunday came, and all the young" people in Goldenthal arose 
early; for on that day Oswald's child was to be baptised. In 
the morning Oswald went to the bedside and kissed the young" 
mother and her infant. " See, Elizabeth," said he, " my heart 
is almost breaking with joy and sorrow mingled. My boy 
makes my heart glad, and the aspect of our village this morning 
moves me to tears. See ! who dare deny the capability of good- 
ness and gratitude in the souls of men ? During the night, they 
have decked our house with garlands and wreaths, as they did 
at. our bridal ; and not only so, but all the cottages in the village 
T are decorated with green boughs and wreaths of bright flowers, 
''-••as if our festival was to be a festival in every family. And all 
the way from our house to the church, they have planted stakes 
on each side of the road, and hung long strings of flowers between 
them, while the road is strewn with green leaves and many- 
coloured flowers." 

The young mother blushed with pleasure, and her eyes were 
moistened as she heard what Oswald told. " I have heard noises 
of going to and fro in the night," said she, " and knew not what 
to make of them." She could not stay in bed, but must go to the 
window to see the decorations of the cottages. And then she 
wept silently ; for nothing is more touching to a tender soul 
than to witness the sympathy of many united by one good feel- 
ing ; it is an anticipation of the joy that will be felt in heaven, 
Elizabeth returned to her infant son, and her parents arrived to 
prepare for the baptismal ceremony. The miller's good wife 
could not express her joy at the gay appearance of the village. 
r '*^ Never," said she — " never was there such a baptism in Golden- 
jthal before — no, not even at the birth of a prince have we had 
^Jlieh a festival !" As she was speaking, a procession of boys and 
gids came on towards Oswald's house : all were clothed in their 
best Sunday garments, and every one carried some little present 
for the cradle of the infant. They came in two at a time, and, 
kneeling down, kissed the hand of the young mother, calling her 
'' Mother Elizabeth ;" then kissed the hand of Oswald, and called 
him " Father Oswald !'^ 

Then all the church bells began to ring joyously. The child 
was dressed, and carried to the church. The grandfather and the 
grandmother followed, and behind them walked the father, deeply 
moved in his soul. The whole congregation, old and young, 
stood before the church in a wide half-circle, waiting for Oswala ; 
and as he came, all said, as with one soft and friendly voice, 
j' Good morning, Father Oswald :" then all followed him into the 
cliifcroki. After the baptism, the preacher, Roderick, delivered a 
sennoa on the duty of the people to be grateful for good guar- 
dians. He seemed to be inspired more than usually with his 

31 



THE GOLDMAKERS' VILLAGE. 

theme. "Word after word went to the hearts of the people. When 
he came to the closing* prayer, and with tremulous voice prayed 
for the g'ood guardians of Goldenthal — when, with tears" no 
longer to be suppressed, he lisped out the name of Oswald, there 
was sobbing and weeping in the congregation : every one thought 
of all that Oswald had done for the parish ; and at the conclusion 
of the service, the h^nnn "for the life of the public guardians" 
arose to Heaven from an assembly of warm and thankful hearts. 
Oswald walked to his house with his head bowed down, and 
yet happy at heart. "SVhen he saw his wife, he could hardly 
speak for emotion. The parson, the miller and his wife, and 
Oswald's fellow-guardians, sat down to the christening dinner ; 
then it was told that a festive dinner was prepared in every cot- 
tage, as if a child in every family had been baptised. Oswald 
shook his head, and said, " I am not worthy of all this kindness.'' 
But the general joy cheered his soul. In the evening he visited 
many of the cottages to express his thanks for their display of 
affection; and until late in the twilight, youths and maidens 
were dancing on the green, and songs were resounding from the 
houses, the shade of the lime trees, and the gardens all around. 
That day has been long talked of at Goldenthal ; and since that 
time, Oswald has always kept the title of father, and Elizabeth 
has been called mother by all the young people of the village. 
Surely all good sown in this life shall be rewarded at last with a 
rich harvest, for God, the loving and merciful, the rewarder of 
the good, lives and rules over us all. 



* 



9 



'1. 



r 




THE LAST EARL OF DERWENTWATER. 



A STORY or THE REBELLION OF 1715. 



THE unhappy fate of this nobleman, 
united to a consideration of his youth, 
his amiable and g-allant character, and 
the ancestral honours and vast estates 
which he forfeited with life by one 
rash act, renders him a kind of hero 
in popular sympathies. We are there- 
fore induced to present a brief me- 
moir of his life, in connexion with 
the rebellion of 1715, trusting- that, 
independently of the moral that may 
be drawn from it, it may aid in in- 
spiring- a taste for our national his- 
tory. 

He was the representative of an 
ancient Northumberland family named Radcliffe, which, besides 
their own orig-inally larg-e possessions, had acquired by marriag-e 
an immense property in the neighbourhood of Derwentwater 
Lake ,ia- Cumberland. Throughout the troubles of the seven- 
teenth century, they uniformly espoused the cause of roj^alty, 
as did many others of the Northumberland gentry, especially 
such as, like them, professed the Catholic relig'ion. At length 
theij^ attachment to the Stuart family was coniirraed in an iute- 
r?sting manner by the marriage of the eldest son of Sir Fran- 
cis Radclifio to a natuial daughter of King Charles II. This 
No. 35. 1 




THE LAST EARL OF DERWENTWATER. 

r 

event took place in 1687, and in the ensuing- year Sir Francis 
Avas made Earl of Derwentwater by King James II., then about 
to lose his throne in consequence of his arbitrary measures, and 
his endeavours to introduce the Roman Catholic religion. 

When the Revolution took place, and James, with his consort 
and infant son, soug-ht refuge in France, the Derwentwater 
family adhered most devotedly to his ruined fortunes, thus mani- 
festing a feeling which must be approved of as taken by itself, 
but which, in existing circumstances, was dangerous to the public 
peace, and apt to lead to evil. James, the eldest son of the 
second earl, and the subject of this memoir, was brought up at 
St Grermains in France, with the son of the exiled king, who was 
of the same age, and with whom, accordingly, he formed one of 
those youthful friendships which are usualh' found to be both the 
most tender and the most lasting. On the death of his father- 
in 1705, he succeeded in his seventeenth year to the titles and- 
estates of his family, and came to live at Dilston, in Northumber- 
land, a tine old mansion, Avhere he exercised almost princely hos- 
pitality. He was in due time happily married to a daughter of 
Sir John Webb of Canford, in Dorsetshire, by whom he had two 
children, a son and daughter. His amiable dispositions now 
slione out in the management of his extensive property. He 
was regarded with affectionate veneration by men of every rank, 
and was in the habit of visiting the cottages upon his estates, 
that his own eye might discover, and his own hand relieve, the 
wants and distresses of the poor. 

REBELLION OF 1715-16. 

Shortly after the death of Queen Anne, and the accession of 
George I., which events occurred in the autumn of 1714, a veiy 
exteiisive design existed for restoring' the family of Stuart to 
the throne. Those who favoured this unhappy cause — usually 
termed Jacobites, from James (Jacobus) II., who had forfeited 
the crown in 1688 — were principally old families of rank in the 
north and west of England and in 'Scotland, and other persons 
who were adverse to those principles of elective monarchy which 
had raised the family of Hanover to the throne. The govern- 
ment of George I. becoming alarmed for its safety, took measures 
to prevent the expected insurrection, seized the horses, arms, 
and ammunition which had been gathered together by the Jaco- 
hite leaders, and hastened to take various persons into custody. 
The Habeas Corpus act, which gives the people a right to imme- 
diate trial, should they be seized for any alleged offences, was 
likewise suspended. This extreme measui'e is supposed to have 
precipitated the rebellion. 

Among the noblemen and gentlemen who were ordered to be 
taken into custody on suspicion, were the Earl of Derwentwater, 
and Mr Foster, member of parliament for the county of North- 
umberland. Wai'rants were accordingly issued for their ap- 

2 



Tf[E LAST EARL OF DERWENTWATER. 

prehension ; but the design having been communicated by one 
of the clerks at the secretary of state's office to his lordship's 
friends in London, they immediately g'ave him warning of the 
intended arrest. Lord Derwentwater, in consequence, fled from 
Dilston, and found refuge in the cottage of one Richard Lam- 
bert, a humble but faithful retainer of his family. For some 
time preparations had been making by the Roman Catholic 
gentry of Northumberland, in concert with their friends in 
London, to appear in arms on the first warning. The manner 
in which they communicated their plans to each other is some- 
what curious. As it was considered unsafe to emploj?- the usual 
mode of carrying on so important a correspondence, gentlemen 
were engaged to travel on horseback from place to place in the 
country, as if on commercial concerns, and letters were deposited 
by them in secure situations, while others were there taken up 
and delivered elsewhere. The placing of letters beneath stones 
at certain spots on the hills and moors was one of the expedients 
resorted to ; and it was by this means that the Earl of Derwent- 
water received private intelligence from his friends. 

His lordship remained some time in concealment, but being at 
length desirous of an interview with his family, he repaired 
secretly to his own house, A considerate wife on such an occasion 
would have probably recommended safe and moderate measures 
to her husband. But the Countess of Derwentwater is said to have 
been of a temper which made her a bad adviser at this juncture. 
On his lordship presenting himself before her, she reproached 
him with some asperity, declaring, " It was not fitting that the 
Earl of Dervv^entwater should continue to hide his head in hovels 
from the light of day when the gentry were up in arms for the 
cause of their rightful sovereign." It is also said that she at the 
same time threw down her fan, indignantly exclaiming', " Take 
that, and give your sword to me." These stinging reproaches 

^decided the earl as to the course he should pursue. He resolved 
to join the insurgents. Orders were instantly given that all his 

, servants should hold themselves in immediate readiness to march, 
and assembling" his small company in the courtyard, he com- 
manded them to draw their swords and follow him. His horses 

' had been for some time in the custody of a neighbouring justice 
of the peace, according to the order of council ; but when his 
lordship required them, they were returned. It is hinted by a 
historian of the period, that a smart bribe paid by the earl to the 
justice — for neither, magistrates, nor judges, nor statesmen in 
these times were above taking money to serve the ends of a suitor 
— was the ready means of unlocking the doors of the stables in 
which his lordship's horses were confined. 

This unfortunate nobleman may now be said to have com- 
mitted himself for the cause of the Stuarts, trusting* no doubt to 
the general understanding, if not express promise, that hundreds 
of other 'north-country gentlemen would readily throw them- 

3 



THE LAST EARL OF DERWENTWATER. 

selves into the same enterprise. In this expectation, as events 
proved, his lordship was doomed to disappointment. Those who 
talk most ahout lighting' for principle, are often wonderfully 
slack when the time for action arrives. It was on the 6th Octo- 
ber (1715) that the Earl of Derwent water went into open rebel- 
lion. A few weeks before, the Earl of Mar had commenced a 
similar rising* in Scotland, and he was now posted at Perth with 
a considerable bod}^ of troops. It was expected that, in both 
countries, the flocking* to the Stuart standard would have been 
hearty and g*eneral ; and important aid was expected from France. 
Unluckily for those who took arms, the unexpected death of 
Louis XIV. prevented all foreign assistance, and also acted 
severely in repressing* the ardour of such as were still undeclared. 
On the side of the English, in particular, there was a lamentable 
failure of energy. Attended by only a small body of retainers, 
the Earl of Derwentwater met Mr Foster with a few men at «. 
place called Greenrig, on the top of a hill in Northumberland. 
The whole force amounted to sixty persons on horseback. What' 
was wanting in numbers, could not well be said to be compen- 
sated by military skill or heroism. The smallness of Derwent- 
water's party showed that the authority which he possessed over 
his extensive estates, and the larsre mines which belono*ed to him 
at Alston Moor, had either been exerted very feebly, or had been 
counteracted by some opposite influence. He was himself, though 
an amiable man, possessed of no special talents for such an enter- 
prise ; while his companion Foster was worse, being decidedly of 
weak understanding*. 

The party of insurgents, having* consulted as to their future 
movements, marched first to a place called Plainfield, on the 
river Coquet, where they were joined by a number of friends, 
and then to Rothbury, a small market-town, where they quar- 
tered for the night. Next morning they proceeded to Wark- 
worth, where they were joined by Lord Widdrington, great-grand- 
son of the famous Lord "NYiddrington, " one of the most goodlj^ 
persons of that age," who had been killed flighting for Charles II. 
in 1651. Foster was now chosen commander-in-chief, not on 
account of his superior influence and station, or from any 
supposed abilities or military knoAvledge, but merely because he 
was a Protestant ; it being* judged unwise to excite popular pre- 
judice against their cause by placing* a Catholic at their head. 
On Sunda}^ morning* Mr Foster sent Mr Buxton, the chaplain 
of the insurgents, to the parson of the parish with orders that he 
should l^ray for King James by name, and that in the litany 
he should introduce the names of Mary, the queen-mother, and 
all the dutiful branches of the royal family, but omit the names 
of King* George and his family. But the parson prudently de- 
clined compliance, and, quitting the place altogether, took refuge 
in Newcastle ; on which Mr Buxton took possession of the 
church, and performed divine service. On the following* day 
4 



THE LAST EARL OF DERWE^fTWATER. 

Mr Foster, in disguise, proclaimed James III. with sound of 
trumpet, and all other formalities which the circumstances of 
the place would admit. From Warkworth they marched to 
Alnwick, where they renewed their proclamation, and received 
som^e friends. Proceeding* next to Morpeth, they were joined 
at Felton Bridge by seventy horse from the Scottish border,^ so 
that they now amounted to 300, the highest number which 
they ever attained. Some of their adherents remained unde- 
cided till the last fatal moment. Patten mentions that one of 
their number, John Hall of Otterburn, attended a meeting of 
the quarter-sessions, w^hich was held at Alnwick for the purpose 
of taking measures for quelling the rebellion, but left it to join 
the insurgents with such precipitation, that he forgot his hat 
upon the bench. The insurgents received many offers of assist- 
ance from the country people, but were obliged to decline them, 
as they had neither arms to equip nor money to pay them. They 
•flierefore deemed it advisable to receive none but such as came 
..Jnounted and equipped. 

At this period Foster received information of a dexterous 
exploit performed by one of their friends, a Newcastle skipper of 
the name of Lancelot Errington. The small fort of Holy Island 
was then guarded by a few soldiers, who were exchanged once 
a-week from the garrison of Bervvick. It seems to have occurred 
to the insurgents that this fort might be of considerable service 
to them, as affording a station for making signals to the French 
ships which they expected to land on that coast with reinforce- 
ments of troops and supplies of arms. Accordingly, Errington, 
accompanied by a few Jacobite friends, sailed on the 10th of 
October to make an attempt upon it ; and as he was in the habit 
of supplying the garrison with provisions, his appearance excited 
no suspicion. He was admitted as usual into the port near the 
castle, and subsequently, while part of the garrison were visiting 
his ship, he entered the castle itself, and made himself master of 
.^it without experiencing the least resistance. As soon as this 
♦Vvas accomplished, Errington attempted to apprise his friends at 
Warkworth of the exploit which he had performed, in order that 
immediate assistance might be sent to him. Unluckily, his 
signals were not perceived by them ; while the governor of 
Berwick, having received intelligence of the capture of the fort, 
resolved to make an effort for its recovery before Errington could 
receive the necessary supplies of men and provisions. The 
next day he despatched a party of thirty soldiers and about 
fifty volunteers, who, crossing the sands at low water, attacked 
the little fort, and instantly overpowered the handful of defenders. 
Errington was wounded, and taken prisoner, but subsequently 
contrived to escape. 

The main body of the insurgents had in the meantime expe- 
rienced a severe disappointment, in the failure of their attempt 
to obtain possession of the important city of Newcastle. As they 

5 



THE LAST EARL OF DERWE>'TWATEil. 

had many friends in the place, and Sir William Blackett, one of 
the representatives in parliament, and a g-reat coal proprietor, 
and therefore possessed of extensive influence among* the keelm.en, 
was understood to be warmly inclined towards their cause, they 
expected an easy capture of the town, intending" to make it a 
grand strong-hold for their party. But the g-reat body of the 
inhabitants, like those of all the thriving- towns in the country, 
were zealous for the reig-ning family, and prepared to defend the 
town with the greatest alacrity. Newcastle, though not regu- 
larly fortified, had strong walls and gates, which were well 
secured and defended by 700 volunteers, while as many more 
could very soon have been raised among the keelmen or barge- 
men employed on the Tyne. The Earl of Scarborough, lord- 
lieutenant of Northumberland, and a number of the neighbouring 
gentry, supported the well-alfected portion of the citizens in their 
resolution, and in the course of a few days the arrival of a body 
of reo-ular troops put this important post out of danger. Frus- 
trated in their designs on Newcastle, the insurgents turned aside 
to Hexham, from Vhich they were led, few of them knowing 
whither, to a large heath or moor near Dilston, and there they 
halted, waiting for an opportunity to surprise Newcastle. But 
hearing of the arrival of General Carpenter with part of those 
forces with whom he afterwards attacked the insurgents, they 
again retired to Hexham, where they proclaimed King James, 
nailing the proclamation to the market-cross, where it was 
allowed to remain several days after they had left the town. 
They had, a few days before, sent a message to the Earl of Mar, 
informing him of their proceedings, and intreating him to send 
them a reinforcement of foot soldiers, of which they stood greatly 
in need. 

In the meantime the Jacobites in the south-west of Scotland 
had also risen in msurrection, and placing Viscount Kenmure, a 
Protestant nobleman of high character, at their head, proposed 
by a sudden effort to possess themselves of the town of Dumfries. 
The citizens, however, zealously prepared themselves for a reso- 
lute defence, and being vigorously supported by the Marquis of 
Annandale, the lord-lieutenant of the county, and many of the 
Whig gentlemen of the neighbourhood, they succeeded in baffling 
the enterprise, which, if successful, must have been attended 
with credit to the arms of the insurgents. Lord Kenmure, find- 
ing that he could not, with a handful of cavalry, propose to 
storm a town the citizens of which were determined on resist- 
ance, resolved to unite his forces with the Northumberland gen- 
tlemen who were in arms in the same cause ; and for that object 
proceeded through Hawick and Jedburgh over the Border to 
Rothbury, where, on the 19th, the junction was eflPected. 

" The two bodies," says Sir Walter Scott, " inspected each other's 
military state and equipments with the anxiety of mingled hope 
and apprehension. The general character of the troops was the 



THE LAST EARL OF DERWENTWATER. 

same, but the Scots seemed the best prepared for action, being 
mounted on strong" hardy horses tit for the charge ; and though 
but poorly disciplined, were well armed with the basket-hilted 
broadsword, then common throughout Scotland. The English 
gentlemen, on the other hand, were mounted on fleet blood- 
horses, better adapted for the race-course and hunting-held than 
for action. There was among them a great want of war-saddles, 
curb-bridles, and, above all, of swords and pistols ; so that the 
Scots were inclined to doubt whether men so well equipped for 
flight, and so imperfectly prepared for combat, might not, in case 
of an encounter, take the safer course, and leave them in the 
lurch. They were unpleasantly reminded of their want of 
swords on entering Wooler. Their commanding officer having 
given the order, ' Gentlemen, you that have swords, draw them,' 
a fellow among the crowd inquired, with some drollery, ' And 
what shall they do who have none?' This was a question 
more easily asked than answered. 

Out of the four troops commanded by Foster, the two raised 
by Lord Derwentwater and Lord Widdrington were, like those 
of the Scots, composed of gentlemen, and their relations and 
dependants. But the third and fourth troops differed consider- 
ably in their composition. The one was commanded by John 
Hunter, who united the character of a Border farmer with that 
of a contraband trader ; the other by a person named Douglas, 
who w^as remarkable for his dexterity and success in searching 
for arms and horses — a trade which he is said not to have limited 
to the time of the rebellion. Into the troops of these last-named 
officers many persons of slender reputation were introduced, who 
had either lived by smuggling, or by the ancient Border practice 
of horse-lifting, as it was called. These light and suspicious 
characters, however, fought with determined courage at the bar- 
ricades of Preston."* 

The combined forces of Kenmure and. Foster having been 
apprised that a detachment from Mar's araiy had been sent 
across the Firth of Forth to join them, crossed the Tweed, and 
directed their march towards Kelso, which had been appointed 
as the place of junction. The Earl of Mar, commander-in-chief 
of the rebels in Scotland, sent upon this mission towards the Bor- 
ders a body of picked men, to the number of 2500, including the 
Mackintoshes, the Farquharsons, and the greater part of the 
regiments of Lords Strathmore and Nairn, Lord Charles Murray, 
and Drummond of Logic Drummond, the whole under the com- 

* Tales of a Grandfather, third series, vol. i. p. 261. It is supposed that 
not a few of these Borderers joined the insurgents purely for tlie more con- 
venient exercise of their calling. When it was reported that Hunter had 
quartered his troop near Carpenter's camp, a gentleman who knew his 
character well, couid not help exclaiming, " Then we shall hear no more 
of Carpenter's dragoons. Let Hunter but get near them, and he will not 
leave them a horse to mount on." 

7 



THE LAST EARL OF DERWENT WATER. 

mand of Brigadier Mackintosli of Borlum, a veteran of zealy, 
experience, and intrepidity. After various bold exploits, one of 
■\vliicli was a threatened attack of Edinburgh, which caused gi'eat 
alarm, Mackintosh marched southwards through the wilds of 
Lammermoor, and on the 2-2d of October joined the forces of Lord 
Kenmure and jMr Foster at Kelso, which had been hurriedly 
evacuated by the government-militia and volunteers. The com- 
bined forces of the insurgents, when mustered in Kelso, were 
found to amount to about 600 horse, and 1400 foot. The day of 
their arrival was entirely spent in appropriate religious exercises. 
Orders were given by Viscount Kenmure, who commanded when 
in Scotland, that the troops should attend divine service in the 
magnificent abbey of David I., then occupied as a Presbyterian 
place of worship. Mr Buxton, who has been already mentioned, 
read prayers, after which Mr Patten, chaplain to Mr Foster, and. 
the historian of the rebellion, preached a sermon on hereditary 
right, from Deut. xxi. 17. — '' The right of the first-born is his." 
In the afternoon Mr Irvine, an old Scottish Episcopalian clergy- 
man, delivered a discourse full of earnest exhortation to his 
hearers to be zealous and steady in the cause in which they had 
embarked ; which discourse, by his own information to Mr Patten, 
he had preached nearly thirtj^ years before in the Highlands to 
Lord Dundee and his army, a little before the battle of Killie- 
crankie. " It was very agreeable," says Patten, " to see how 
decently and reverently the very common Highlanders behaved, 
and answered the responses according* to the rubric, to the shame 
of many that pretend to more pohte breeding." 

Next day, October "24, the whole army marched to the market 
cross, with drums beating and coloui's flying ; and a circle having 
been formed, with the chiefs and officers in the centre. King James 
was proclaimed by Mr Seton of Barnes, claimant of the vacant 
earldom of Dunfermline. The manifesto of the Earl of Mar was 
next read, at the end of which the people shouted, "No union! no 
malt-tax ! no salt-tax ! " such being the popular grievances of tha 
period. Here, as at other places, they appropriated the public 
revenues to their own use. They also instituted a search for arms, 
and seized several pieces of cannon brought by Sir AVillianL 
Bennet from the ancient fortress of Hume Castle, Avhere they 
had in former times been employed for the purpose of annoyingr 
the English in their incursions into Scotland. They likewise plun- 
dered the mansions of several gentlemen in the neighbourhood,, 
and destroyed all the corn they could find upon their estates. 

They remained in Kelso from the 22d to the 27th of October, 
and hearing that General Carpenter had advanced as far as 
Wooler, for the purpose of attacking them, they held a council of 
war to deliberate on the course which they should pursue. One 
plan of operations was advocated by the Scots, another by the 
English. The former proposed to follow out the design with 
which Mar had sent the Highlanders across the Forth, by moving 

8 



THE LAST EARL OF DER WENT WATER. 

westward along the Border, reducing' in their way the towns of 
Dumfries, Ayr, and Glasgow, and then, uniting with the insur- 
gent clans of the West Highlands, operate upon the rear of 
Argyle's army, while the Earl of Mar should attack him in front. 
In this way, they contended, there was every chance of their being 
able to drive the Duke of Argyle entirely out of Scotland. The 
English portion of the insurgents, on the other hand, insisted 
that they should march southwards, and attack General Car- 
penter, who was coming towards them at the head of about 900 
newly levied troops, who Avere not merely very raw soldiers, but 
much fatigued with forced marches. Their great superiority of 
numbers would have made them almost certain of victory, which 
would have cast no small lustre on their arms, and have drawn 
many accessions to their force. Either of these plans, if decidedly 
pursued, seemed to promise success; but, unfortunately, the 
irreconcilable difference of opinion as to their comparative merits 
between the two portions of the army, rendered it impossible to 
adopt either course. The Highlanders positively refused to enter 
England, and the English were determined to advance no further 
in Scotland. In the end, a half-measure was agreed upon. 
They resolved to march neither against Carpenter nor Argyle, 
but to move westward along the Border — a course which might 
advance them equally on their road, whether they should finally 
determine to take the route to the west of Scotland or to Lanca- 
shire. Like all half-measures, this foolish scheme was signally 
unsuccessful ; for General Carpenter and his dragoons falling into 
their track, and following in their rear, gave to their march the 
appearance of a flight. On the horse arriving at Jedburgh, an 
alarm was given that Lord Lumley, who had lately raised a body 
of light-horse in Northumberland, had attacked their foot, who 
were considerably in the rear. Tliis intelligence produced no 
little consternation, and Charles RadclifFe, mounting his horse, 
called on " all those who had any courage " to mount and follow 
him. Some of those who stood beside the general tore oflp the 
white cockades from their hats, to make themselves appear guilt- 
less in the eyes of those by whom they expected to be imme- 
diately taken. Others sought places of concealment throughout 
the town. The greater part eventually mounted their horses, 
and marched out to join the foot ; but the alarm proved false ; so 
they returned, says Patten, " worse frighted than hurt." After 
remaining for two days at Jedburgh, the insurgents resolved to 
cross the hills into North Tynedale, and accordingly Captain 
Hunter, who was well acquainted with the country, was 
despatched thither to provide quarters for the army. But the 
Highlanders having still resolutely refused to cross the Border, 
they were eventually obliged to alter their intention, and to march 
towards Hawick. Here Lord Derwentwater, his brother, Mr 
Charles Radcliffe, and the other leaders, were hospitably en- 
tertained at a house belonging to the Duchess of Buccleuch. 
1 9 



THE LAST EARL OF DERWENTWATER. 

While lying: at Hawick, the disputes between the Highlanders 
and the English respecting their hnal course came almost to an 
open rupture, and the former separated themselves from the 
horse, and drawing up on a moor above the town, declared that 
they would on no consideration go into England to be kidnapped 
and made slaves of, as their ancestors were in Cromwell's time. 
And when the horse, exasperated at their obstinacy, threatened 
to surround them and force them to march, they cocked their 
pieces, and calmly observed that if they must needs be made a 
sacritice, they were determined at least that it should be in their 
own country. While this humour lasted, they would allow no 
one to speak to them but the Earl of Wintoun, who earnestly 
advocated the plan of marching northward, and falling upon 
Argyle's rear. The English forces adhered with equal obstinacy 
to their own scheme of marching into England. Lord Derwent- 
water and his brother alone took part with the Highlanders, 
being of opinion that they would be better able to serve the cause 
in which they were embarked by joining the army in Scotland, 
than by continuing their route to England, where it was uncer- 
tain what assistance they might obtain, many of their friends 
there being men of fortune, and having too large an interest at 
stake to embark in the affair without strong assurance of success. 
Lord Derwentwater conceived it the wiser policy to strike a bold 
stroke in Scotland, and endeavour to complete the conquest of 
that country, which would enable them to raise a powerful army, 
and march upon England with an overwhelming force, possessing 
at the same time resources for supplies, and a place of retreat in 
case of any disaster ; whereas, in England, should they be de- 
feated, the cause would be ruined, having no means of retrieving 
the misfortune. The leaders having refused to listen to this 
prudent counsel, Charles Radcliffe begged for only 100 horse, 
that with them he might take his fortune along with the 
Highlanders. This also was refused, lest it should weaken their 
forces. At length, after several hours' debate, the Highlanders 
consented to continue with the army so long as it should remain 
in Scotland, but on no account to enter England. 

On Sunday, October 30, they entered Langholm. Here they were 
informed by a gentleman who had that morning seen Carpenter's 
troops enter Jedburgh, that they were so completely worn out by 
fatigue, as to seem almost incapable of resistance. But although 
this information was laid before a council of war, it was found 
impossible to come to any resolution to take advantage of it; 
and the utmost that the Scots could get their associates to con- 
sent to was, to join in an attack upon the town of Dumfries. 
The citizens of this town, however, who thus saw themselves 
a second time threatened by the insurgent forces, again assumed 
an attitude of resistance, and marched out to occupy a position 
in front of the place, on which they threw up some hasty fortifi- 
cations. At the same time they received intelligence from Gene- 

10 



THE LAST EARL OF DERWENTWATER. 

ral Carpenter, that if they could but defend themselves for six 
hours, he would within that time attack the rear of the ^nemj. 

On the morning" of the 31st of October the insurgents left 
Langholm for the purpose of attacking* Dumfries, and an 
advanced party of 400 horse had proceeded as far as Blacket- 
ridge, when they were met by an express from their friends 
in Dumfries, informing them of the preparations which the 
citizens of that town had made for its defence. Immediately 
on the arrival of this message, the dispute was renewed between 
the Scots and English, the former insisting on their original plan 
of forming a junction with the Earl of Mar, while Mr Foster 
and his friends obstinately adhered to their proposal of entering" 
England, affirming that they had received letters which assured 
them of the general co-operation of the numerous Roman Catholic 
gentry, and that upon appearing there they would be joined by 
20,000 men. Lord Der went water continued strongly to protest 
against the proposed measure, as certain to end in their ruin ; but 
his remonstrances were unheeded. The rest of the English 
leaders urged the advantages of their plan with such vehemence, 
as to bear down all opposition. After a long altercation, they 
finally resolved upon the invasion of Lancashire, provided they 
could obtain the consent of the Earl of Wintoun and Brigadier 
Mackintosh, who were not present at the consultation, and who 
had all along strenuously opposed the measure. Mackintosh's 
opinion, however, had undergone a change on the subject. He 
is loudly accused of having been actuated by a love of plunder, 
which would have better become a lower rank in the army ; and 
it is alleged that on this occasion he had been gained over by the 
prospects of personal advantage held out to him by the English 
gentlemen. The messenger despatched by the council to ascer- 
tain if the brigadier would agree to their project, found him in 
the middle of the river Esk in the act of stopping about 300 of 
his men, who, abeady aware of the design of taking them into 
England, had commenced a retreat towards the Highlands. On 
the message being delivered to him, he immediately decided in 
favour of the proposal to march into England, where there were 
" both meat, men, and money," and accordingly exerted himself 
to prevail upon his men to obey the orders of the council. He 
succeeded with the greater part ; but a detachment of about 500 
resisted all his arguments ; and, disregarding his orders, broke 
away entirely from their companions, with the pui*pose of return- 
ing home through the western districts and by the heads of the 
Forth. The difficulty of finding provisions, however, compelled 
them to separate into small parties, and the greater part of them 
were, consequently, captured by the peasantry about the upper 
part of Clydesdale, and committed to prison. The Earl of 
Wintoun was also so strongly dissatisfied with the resolution 
adopted by the general body, that he left the army with a con- 
siderable pai-t of his troop, and proceeded some distance towards 

11 



THE LAST EARL OF DERWENTWATER. 

the nortli, as if he had renounced the enterprise entirely. Being- 
overtaken, however, by the messeng-er from the council, and in- 
treated to accede to their wishes, he stood for some time pen- 
sive and silent, apparently pondering the various chances of the 
two measures presented to his choice. At leng-th he broke out 
with an exclamation, which was certainly characteristic of his 
romantic and somewhat extravag'ant mind — " It shall never be 
said in history to after-generations that the Earl of Wintoun 
deserted King James's interest and his country's good ! " Then 
taking himself by the two ears, he added, " You or any man 
shall have liberty to cut these out of my head, if we do not all 
repent it!" But though this unfortunate young nobleman 
again joined the insurgent forces, it was remarked that he ceased 
to take any interest in the debates or deliberations of his party. 
Patten, indeed, states that "he was never afterwards called to 
any council of war, and was slighted in various ways, having 
often no quarters provided for him, and at other times very bad 
ones, not fit for a nobleman of his family ; yet being in for it, 
he resolved to g'o forwards, and diverted himself with any com- 
pany, telling many pleasant stories of his travels, and his living 
unknown and obscurely with a blacksmith in France, whom he 
served some years as a bellows-blower and under-servant, till he 
was acquainted with the death of his father, and that his tutor 
had given out that he was dead, upon which he resolved to 
return home ; and when there, met with a cold reception." 

The main body of the insurgents, weakened by the desertion 
of the 500 Highlanders, entered England on the 1st of Novem- 
ber, and took up their quarters for that night at Brampton, a 
small market-town in Cumberland, near Carlisle, where, as usual, 
they seized the money collected for the excise on malt and ale. 
Here Mr Foster opened a commission, which he had received 
during the march from Lord Mar, authorising him to act as 
general in England. It is by no means improbable that the 
desire to obtain the supreme command of the army might have 
made this gentleman the more anxious for having the march 
directed on his native country ; and a slight success which he 
met with at this period seemed to aiFord some justification of this 
scheme. The horse-militia of Westmoreland and of the nor- 
thern parts of Lancashire had been drawn out to oppose the 
insurgents, and at Penrith they were joined by the posse comi- 
tatus of Cumberland, amounting to 12,000 men, headed by Lord 
Lonsdale and the Bishop of Carlisle. But this enormous host 
was composed of ignorant and undisciplined rustics, ill-armed 
and worse arrayed, who had formed to themselves such a di'ead- 
ful idea of the fierceness and irresistible valour of the rebel army, 
that they were no sooner made aware of the approach of an 
advanced party of these, than they w^ere seized by panic, and 
took to flight in all directions. The insurgents collected a con- 
siderable quantity of arms which the fugitives had throwia away 

12 



THE LAST EARL OF DERWENTWATER. 

in their flight, and took a great number of prisoners, who, being 
of Httle value to their captors, were immediately set at liberty — 
a kindness which they repaid by shouting, " God save King 
James, and prosper his merciful army!'"' Lord Lonsdale, de- 
serted by all save about twenty of his own servants, found shelter 
in the old castle of Appleby. 

In Penrith they collected the money belonging to the revenue, 
and seized what arms they could find, but did no injury to the 
town, the principal inhabitants of which treated them from the 
first with all manner of civility. Patten mentions that some 
individuals requested permission from Mr Foster to pull down 
or burn a Presbyterian meeting-house ; but he at once rejected 
the request, observing, that he intended to gain by clemency, 
and not by cruelty. From Penrith the insurgents marched 
next day to Appleby, where they halted two days to refresh 
themselves, the Highlanders being very much fatigued by the 
forced marches which they had for some time ma3e, although 
the horse had carried their arms most of the way. 

From Appleby they proceeded to Kendal, and from Kendal 
to Kirby Lonsdale, everywhere proclaiming King James, and 
levying the public money. Hitherto they had seen nothing of 
that enthusiasm in their cause which the English leaders had 
taught their associates to expect. Most of the leading- Catholics, 
indeed, in Cumberland and Westmoreland, such as Mr Howard 
of Corby, and Mr Ciiiwen of Workington, had been previously 
secured by the government in Carlisle castle. Instead of in- 
creasing, the number of the insurgents rather diminished ; for at 
Penrith seventeen Teviotdale gentlemen abandoned their cause, 
thinking it hopeless. At Kirby Lonsdale, however, a number 
of the Roman Catholic gentry of Lancashire, with whom Foster 
had been corresponding*, came up and enrolled themselves. 

An individual of the name of Gwyn, who accompanied the 
insurgents, is stated to have taken a curious mode of exhibiting 
his -zeal for their cause during the march. At every church 
which they passed, he carefully erased King George's name 
from the prayer-books, substituting that of King James in a 
nice hand, resembling print, so that the alteration could scarcely 
be perceived. 

Their next remove was to Lancaster, and during the march 
they learned from Mr Charles AViddrington, brother to Lord 
Widdrington, who had been sent forward to warn their friends 
in Lancashire of their approach, that King James had been 
proclaimed at Manchester, the inhabitants of which seemed dis- 
posed to embark in the insurrection, and form a company for 
that purpose ; and that the gentry of the country in that direction 
had declared their intention to join them. This cheering intel- 
ligence raised the spirits of the Highlanders, who had loudly 
complained that all the specious promises held out to them re- 
specting the vast reinforcements by which they were to be joined 

13 



THE LAST EARL OF DERWENTWATER. 

had proved a delusion : and, with the confident expectation of 
success, thej continued their march to Lancaster. The noto- 
rious Colonel Charteris, who then occupied the town, wished to 
defend the place hj blowing up the bridge over the Lune, in 
order to prevent the enemy's passage ; but this being- opposed by 
the inhabitants, he retired, and the insurgents entered the town 
without hindrance. They had here the satisfaction to release 
several of their friends imprisoned in the county jail, especially 
an individual who had headed a mob at Manchester in pulling 
down a dissenting chapel. They remained at Lancaster two 
days, and then pushed forward to Preston, a town equally 
Jacobitish and Catholic ; from which Stanhope's i^egiment of 
dragoons, and a body of militia, thought it prudent to retire on 
their approach. 

CLOSE OF THE REBELLION. 

At Preston the insurgents were joined by nearly all the Roman 
Catholic gentry of the district, with their servants and tenantry, 
to the number of about 1200. But this large accession of force 
might in various respects be considered an incumbrance rather 
than a help ; the greater number of the new recruits being very 
imperfectly armed, and none of them having any notion of 
discipline. Foster, who was entirely ignorant of war, began 
now to assume the airs of a conqueror, thinking that the forces 
of the government would never be able to face him. But the 
veteran brigadier, who knew the value of such an undisciplined 
rabble, entertained a very different opinion. "Are these the 
fellows that ye intend to light Willis with?" he said in derision 
to Foster, as he pointed through a window to a pack of louts 
who passed along the street. " Why, man, an ye had 10,000 
of them, I would engage to beat the whole with a squadron of 
Willis's dragoons." The design of the rebels was now to possess 
themselves of Warrington Bridge, wath a view to securing Liver- 
pool. But while they were planning an attack on this celebrated 
seaport, which its citizens were making active preparations to 
defend, the government forces were advancing towards them from 
several quarters, and taking measures for crushing the insurrec- 
tion altogether. Of this, however, strange to say, the insurgents 
had no knowledge. Though a very large body of the gentry 
of the country, and a considerable proportion of the populace, 
were friendly to them, so thoroughly had the spirit of delusion 
possessed the whole party, and pervaded all their proceetling-^, 
that they suffered themselves to be completely surprised. The 
Jacobites in the west of England had, during the past year, 
raised so many riots and disorders, that the goverranent had 
been obliged to send more troops to that quarter than- to any 
other district of the country — a circumstance ve>y unfortu- 
nate for the rebels. These troops were now quartered in the 
neighbouring towns of Manchester, Chester, Birmingham. Stat- 

14 



THE LAST EABL OF DERWENTWATER. 

ford, Wolverhampton, and they received orders from General 
Willis, who commanded in Cheshire for the government, ap- 
pointing- them to rendezvous at Warrington Bridge on the lOtli 
of November, intending to place himself at their head, and dis- 
pute with the insurgents their approach to Manchester. 

In the meantime. General Carpenter, on learning that the 
rebels were in full march into England, had also crossed the 
Border, and hastened, by forced marches, to Durham, where an 
express reached him from General Willis to quicken and direct 
his march. On the 11th, just as the insurgents had taken pos- 
session of Preston, Willis left Manchester for Wigan with four 
regiments of cavalry and one of foot ; for the most part newly 
raised, but commanded by experienced officers. At Wigan he 
was joined by Pitt's regiment of dragoons, which had been 
quartered there, and also by Stanhope's, which had retired from 
Preston on the approach of the insurgents. Having there learned 
that General Carpenter was advancing from the opposite quarter, 
and would be ready to take the rebel forces in flank, he deter- 
mined to march straight upon Preston next day. 

These tidings came very unexpectedly on the rebel army. It 
was not till the evening of the 11th that Foster was made aware 
of Willis's approach by a letter which one of their friends had 
sent to the Earl of Derwentwater. The intelligence seems to 
have completely disheartened and confounded him, and the re- 
sult showed how incapable was this boastful man of commanding 
such a bold enterprise. Instead of summoning a council to de- 
liberate on the emergency, or issuing any orders for defence, he 
sent the letter to Lord Kenmure, and went to bed. It was not 
till he was roused by Lord Kenmure and other officers from his 
unseasonable slumbers, that he directed any measures to be taken 
for defence. A hurried council was now held, and it was deter- 
mined to send out an advanced party of horse towards Wigan, to 
plant strong guards at Derrin and Kibble bridges, and to get the 
whole army in readiness to fight at the shortest notice. 

There were two plans of defence open to the choice of the in- 
surgent general — either to march out and dispute with the royal 
forces the passage of the river Kibble, by which Preston is 
covered, or to remain within the town, and defend it by the 
assistance of such temporary fortifications and barricades as could 
be hastily constructed before the enemy's approach. The first of 
these courses had many obvious advantages. The bridge across 
the Bibhle was long and narrow, and might have been easily 
defended by a handful of men against a numerous army. It 
seems to be generally admitted that if Foster had contested the 
passag'e of the bridge with General Willis, while at the same 
time, he rendered two adjacent fords impassable, which might 
easily have been done, he might have made an effectual resistance 
— even, perhaps, have destroyed the royal army. Between the 
bridge and the town there extended a long and deep lane, bor- 

}5 



THE LAST EARL OF DERWENTWATER. 

dered with steep banks surmounted by strong* hedg-es. The 
lane was in some places so narrow, that two men could not 
ride abreast. This, it seems, was the place where, in 1648, 
Cromwell experienced such a determined resistance from the 
royalists, who are said to have rolled down larg-e stones from the 
heights upon him and his men ; one of these stones coming so 
near him, that he could only escape by making his horse leap 
into a quicksand. But Foster made no attempt to avail himself 
of this advantageous pass. River, bridge, and road, were all 
left open to the assailants. Possessed with the idea that " the 
body of the town was the security of the army," the rebel gene- 
ral abandoned all exterior defences, and commanded the guard, 
of 100 chosen Highlanders, which the council had placed at the 
bridg'e under Farquharson of Invercauld, to retire into the town. 
He at the same time withdrew another detachment of fifty High- 
landers, who had taken up a most advantag-eous post in Sir 
Henry Haughton's house, near the extremity of the town cor^ 
responding with the bridge. 

Within the town, however, the insurgents had taken judicious 
measures for their defence, and pursued them with zeal and 
spirit. Four barricades v*'ere thrown up across the principal 
streets ; not, however, at their extremities towards the fields, but 
a good way up near the centre of the town. The danger was 
thus avoided of the enemy coming through the numerous lanes 
at the termination of the streets, and attacking the insurgents in 
the rear of their defences. The Jacobite leaders seem at this 
juncture to have acted with great courage. The Earl of Derwent- 
water, in particular, stripping to the waistcoat, encouraged the 
men to labour both by presents of money and by animating ex- 
hortations, and the works were speedily completed. 

One of the four barricades was situated a little below the chuf ch. 
The defence of it was committed to Brigadier Mackintosh, .who 
was supported by the gentlemen volunteers posted in the church- 
yard, under the command of Lords Kenmure, Nithisdale, Win- 
toun, and Derwentwater. The second was formed at the end of 
a lane, which was defended by a party of Highlanders under' 
Lord Charles Murray, third son of the Duke of Athole. The. 
Laird of Mackintosh, with his clan, was posted at the windmill 
barricade, on the road to Lancaster. The fourth ban'ier was 
drawn across the street leading towards Liverpool, and was 
manned by Hunter, the Northumbrian freebooter, with his moss- 
troopers, and the gentlemen of Teviotdale and Berwickshire,- with 
some of the Earl of Strathmore's regiment under the command 
of Major Miller and Mr Douglas. Each barricade was protected 
by two pieces of cannon, and troops were also posted in the 
houses near the barricades, and especially in all the houses which, 
from their forming the corners of lanes, presented two sides 
towards the expected assailants. 
. General Willis, on reaching the bridge over the Kibble, was 

16 



THE LAST EARL OF DERWENTWATER. 

surprised to find it undefended ; and supposing" that the insur- 
gents intended to assail his men by an ambuscade from behind the 
hedges, he proceeded with the greatest caution. On finding that 
the hedges were also unoccupied, he came to the conclusion that 
the insurgents had evacuated the town altogether, and were en- 
deavouring by forced marches to return to Scotland. As he ap- 
proached the town, however, he saw the barricades which Foster 
had thrown up, and learned the real state of the case. Having taken 
a survey of the defences, he prepared for an immediate onset ; 
and to make the assault with more effect, he determined to attack 
only two of the barricades at once. His troops were accordingly 
divided into two parties, one under Brigadier Honeyman, the 
other under Brigadier Dormer. The former, at the head of five 
different companies of dismounted dragoons, one from each of 
five regiments, made a furious attack on the barrier below the 
church, defended by Brigadier Mackintosh. But their intrepid 
assault was met with equal courage ; and so destructive a fire 
was poured upon them not only from the barricades, but from 
the adjacent houses, that they were beaten off with considerable 
loss. 

During this hot attack, the Earl of Derwentwater and his 
brother displayed great bravery, animating their men, by words 
and example, to maintain their ground with undaunted resolu- 
tion. His lordship not only kept his post, but was able to send 
fifty men to assist Lord Charles Murray, with which timely aid 
the Highlanders were enabled to maintain their difficult position. 
At all points Willis was beat back, and he was finally obliged to 
withdraw his forces, having suffered considerable loss. 

When the government forces retired from the various points 
of attack, they set fire to the houses betwixt them and the barri- 
cades ; and had not the weather been uncommonly serene, the 
"whoie town must have been burned to the ground. During the 
evening of Saturday, and all the subsequent night, the royalists 
kept up an almost incessant firing* at the posts of the besieged, 
but with very little effect, as they were in general secure under 
cover from the shot. 

Earl;^ next morning, November 12, the same day on which the 
Earl of Mar had fought the indecisive battle of Sheriffmuir, 
General Carpenter arrived with a part of his cavalry, accom- 
panied by the Earl of Carhsle, Lord Lumley, and a considerable 
num*ber of the gentry of the country. His arrival of course 
greatly brightened the hopes of the government troops, and leffc 
the. besieged no hope of escape or rehef. Willis immediately 
prpceeded to explain his dispositions to Carpenter; and then, 
as the inferior in rank, offered to resign the chief command to 
his superior officer. But General Carpenter generously refused 
to take the charge of the siege, observing, that as Willis had 
begun the affair so auspiciously, he deserved the honour of finish- 
ing it. Various alterations were now made in the disposition of 

17 



THE LAST EABL OF DERWENTWATER. 

the forces : the town was completely invested on all sides ; and 
preparations were made for a renewed assault. 

The situation of the insurgents had now become desperate. 
They had, it is true, succeeded in repulsing* their assailants in the 
previous attack ; but it was evident that, cut off from all assis- 
tance, and cooped up in the streets of a burning town, where 
they had few men to maintain an extended circle of defence, 
their fate was inevitable. Every avenue of flight was now closely 
guarded; and of those who made a desperate attempt to sally, 
the greater part were cut in pieces, and only a very few escaped 
"by hewing their way through the enemy. 

" The scene of unavoidable destruction," says Sir Walter Scott, 
^' had different effects upon the different characters of the unfor- 
tunate insurgents in Preston ; in like manner as the approach of 
imminent peril has upon domesticated and savage animals when 
they are brought to extremity — the former are cowed into sub- 
mission, while the latter, brought to bay, become more desperately 
ferocious in their resistance. The English gentlemen began to 
think upon the possibility of saving their lives, and entertained 
the hope of returning once more to the domestic enjojonents of 
their homes and their estates ; while the Highlanders, and most 
of the Scottish insurgents, even of the higher classes, declared for 
sallying out, and dying like men of honour, with sword in hand, 
rather than holding their lives on the base tenure of submission," 
The only one of the English leaders who seems to have joined the 
Scots in this opinion was Charles Radcliffe, who with his usual 
intrepidity declared " he would rather die, sword in hand, like a 
man of honour, than yield to be dragged like a felon to the 
gallows, there to be hanged like a dog." Foster, however, was 
completely disheartened; and at the instigation of Lord Wid- 
ch'ington, and a few others, Colonel Oxburgh, who was an , 
Irish Catholic, and had been Foster's principal adviser in mili- 
tary matters, went out to ask terms of surrender. This step, 
it must be observed, was taken without the advice, and even 
■without the knowledge, of the leading men in the army. And the 
common soldiers were so exceedingly adverse to the idea of a sur- 
render, that, according to the report of an eye-witness, they 
would have unquestionably shot Colonel Oxburgh before he had 
gone out of the barrier, if they had been aware of the message 
with which he was charged. Oxburgh's mission was coldly 
received by the English general, who, irritated by the loss he had 
sustained on the preceding evening, seemed at first disposed to 
reject the proposition altogether, and declared that " he would not 
treat with rebels who had killed several of the king's subjects, 
and must expect to undergo the same fate." Oxburgh employed 
many arguments to soften the general ; and intreated him, as " a 
man of honour and an officer, to show mercy to people who were 
willing to submit." Willis at last relented so far as to say, " that 
if the rebels would lay down their arms, and surrender at discre- 

18 



THE LAST EARL OF DERWENTWATER. 

tion, he would protect them from heing cut to pieces by the sol- 
dial's, until further ordei-s from government." An hour was 
allowed them for the consideration of this proposal. 

When Oxburg-h returned, and reported the result of his mission, 
Captain Dalzell, brother of the Earl of Carnwath, went out in the 
name of the Scots, to ascertain what terms would be granted to 
them; but Willis refused to give any other terms than those 
which he had already oflPered through Colonel Oxburgh. Dalzell 
then requested time to take the proposal into consideration, which 
was granted by Willis, on condition that the insurgents should 
give him hostages against their throwing up new intrenchments, 
or making any attempt to escape. Colonel Cotton accompanied 
Dalzell back to Preston, for the purpose of bringing out the 
hostages. He speedily returned to the general's tent, bringing 
with him the Earl of Derwentwater and Colonel Mackintosh, who 
had been selected for this service, and having received the parole 
of the other leaders of the rebel forces that they would observe 
the proposed conditions. The news of the intended surrender 
filled the great body of the common soldiers with the deepest 
indignation. The Highlanders, especially, were terribly enraged, 
declaring they would die sword in hand; and insisted on making 
an attempt to cut their way through the royal forces. " Had Mr 
Foster," says an eye-witness, " appeared in the streets, he would 
have been slain, though he had had a hundred lives." As it was, 
he narrowly escaped being killed in his own room. A Scottish 
gentleman named Murray, who had waited upon him to remon- 
strate against the surrender, was so enraged as to fire a pistol at 
him ; and but for the prompt interposition of Mr Patten, who 
struck up Murray's arm at the moment of the discharge, the ball 
would certainly have pierced Foster's body. 

Next morning, at seven o'clock, Mr Foster sent a message to 
General Willis, informing him that the insurgents were willing 
to surrender on theterais proposed. Colonel Mackintosh, who was 
present when the message was delivered, could not help expressing 
his conviction that the Scotch would not submit on such con- 
ditions. They were a people, he said, of desperate fortunes ; and 
he, who had been a soldier himself, knew what it was to be a 
prisoner at discretion. " Then go back to your people again," 
exclaimed Willis, '' and I will attack the town, and not spare one 
man of you." Mackintosh accordingly proceeded to Preston; but 
immediately came back with the assurance that Lord Kenmure, 
and the rest of the Scottish leaders, were willing to surrender on. 
the same terms with the English. 

The royal troops then entered Preston in two detachments, and 
meeting in the market-place, where the whole of the insurgents 
were drawn up, they disarmed, and formally made them prison- 
ers. By this final blow the rebellion in England was effectually 
terminated. In Scotland the insurgents held out for two months 
longer, at the end of which period they dispersed. 



THE LAST EARL OF DERWENTWATER. 

Among" the captives taken at Preston, were Lords Derwentwater^ 
Widdrington, Nithisdale, Wintoun, Carnwath, Kenmure, Nairn^, 
and Charles Murray ; and members of the ancient northern famihea 
of Ord, Beaumont, Thornton, Clavering", Patten, Gascoig-ne, Stand- 
ish, and Swinburne. The number of prisoners taken, of all kinds, 
was only 1400, among-st whom there were about 200 domestic 
servants, followers of the g-entlemen who had assumed arms, and 
upwards of 200 gentlemen volunteers, the rest consisting of the 
Highlanders under the command of Brigadier Mackintosh. It is 
evident, therefore, that the greater part of the Lancashire pea- 
sants who had joined them at Preston, had either got out of the 
town during the blockade, or escaped recognition at the surrender. 
Of the insurgents, only seventeen had been killed in the defence, 
while between sixty and seventy of the royalists were slain, and 
as many more wounded. 

FATE OF THE PRISONERS. 

On laying down their arms, the unhappy garrison were con- 
fined in one of the churches, and treated with considerable rigour, 
being stripped and ill-used by the soldiery. In consequence of 
these outrages, many of the prisoners were so much in Avant of 
decent clothing, that they were obliged to strip the pews of their 
baize linings, to protect themselves from the severity of the 
weather. Six of their number were condemned to be shot by 
martial law, as holding commissions under the government 
against which they had borne arms. Little mercy was shown to 
the private men, who had merely followed what was in their eyes 
the paramount duty of yielding obedience to their chiefs. A 
great number of them were banished to the plantations in Ame- 
rica, the very fate the dread of which made them so unwilling to 
enter England. About five hundred of the inferior prisoners 
were sent to Chester jail, and many others to Liverpool, and 
various prisons near the place where they were taken ; but those 
of most note were conveyed to London, where they arrived on 
the 9th of December. They were introduced into the city in a 
kind of triumphal procession, which was much less dishonourable 
to the unfortunate suiFerers, than to the mean minds whopa'ri- 
dered to the passions of the mob by planning such an ignoble 
triumph. When the prisoners had reached Barnet, they were 
all pinioned with cords like the vilest criminals. At Highgate 
they were met by a strong detachment of horse grenadiers and 
foot-guards — halters were put upon their horses, and each man's 
horse was led by a private soldier, and their ears were stunned 
by the drums of their escort beating a triumphal march, and by 
the shouts of the multitude, who loaded them with every kind of 
scurrilous abuse and insult. In this manner they were led 
through the streets of the city, and divided among the four prin- 
cipal prisons, the noblemen being secured in the Tower.' 

They were not long suffered to remain in uncertainty re- 

20 



THE LAST EARL OF DERWENTWATER. 

garding their fate. On the day of the opening of parliament, 
Mr Lechmere, in a long and vehement speech, descanted upon 
the guilt of the insurgents, and the "many miraculous provi- 
dences" which had baffled their designs ; and ended by impeach- 
ing James, Earl of Dervventwater, of high treason. No opposi- 
tion was oflPered, and the impeachment was carried up to the 
House of Lords on the same day. On the 9th of February 1716, 
the earl was carried to the bar of the House of Lords, and the 
articles of impeachment having been read, he requested time to 
prepare his answer, and was allowed till the 19th. On that day 
he was taken to Westminster Hall for trial, and pleaded guilty, 
acknowledging' his guilt, and throwing himself upon the king's 
mercy. In his defence he pleads his youth and inexperience, 
and various other palliating circumstances with which his case 
was attended — affirms that his temper and inclination disposed 
him to live peaceably under his majesty's government, and that 
he had never had any previous connection wdth any designs to 
subvert the reigning family — that he rashly, and without preme- 
ditation, engaged in this unhappy undertaking — that the truth of 
this was evinced by his having no preparation of men, horses, 
arms, or other warlike accoutrements — that he took the first 
opportunity of submitting to the king's mercy, and was solicitous 
to prevent any further destruction of the lives of his majesty's 
subjects, but rather to induce all who had taken up arms to sub- 
mit — that one of his majesty's officers sent from the general gave 
them encouragement to believe that their surrender would be the 
ready way to obtain the king's mercy — that, in reliance on this 
advice," he offered himself as one of the hostages, and while with 
the royal forces, received further assurances from the officers 
that the king was a prince of known clemency, and that the free 
surrender to mercj^ would be the most likely way to obtain it — 
that it was quite practicable for the besieged at Preston to have 
cut their way through his majesty's forces ; but as this would 
have occasioned much bloodshed, which he was anxious to pre- 
vent, he had exhorted his associates to surrender, and had de- 
clared to General Willis and the other officers, that whatever 
happened, he was determined to continue with them, and to rely 
entirely on his majesty's clemency and goodness, which he had 
encouragement to expect — and concludes with a hope that their 
lordships will use their mediation for mercy on his behalf, which 
will lay him under the highest obligations of duty and affection 
to his majesty, and perpetual gratitude to both houses of parlia- 
ment. In spite of this appeal, however, he was condemned to 
suffer death as a traitor, according to its ancient barbarous form. 
But his sentence was afterwards mitigated, and orders were 
issued that he should be merely beheaded, and his body given up 
to his friends. 

Great interest was made with the court and both houses of par- 
liament in behalf of the earl. His countess, accompanied by the 

ai 



THE LAST EARL OF DERWENTWATER. 

Duchesses of Cleveland and Bolton, and other ladies of the first 
rank, was, by the Dukes of Richmond and St Albans, introduced 
into the king-'s bedchamber, where she humbly implored his 
clemency for her unfortunate husband. The king-, however, 
adhered to his purpose; and she went on the 21st of February, 
with the ladies of the other condemned noblemen, into the lobby 
of the House of Lords to beg their intercession ; but here, also, 
her petition was disregarded. Appeals were made to the cupidity, 
as well as to the compassion, of his majesty's ministers ; and Sir 
Robert Walpole declared in the House of Commons that £60,000 
had been offered to him if he would obtain the pardon of the earL 
Several of the stanchest Whig's in the House of Commons, 
amongst others Sir Richard Steele, were inclined to mercy; 
but Walpole, though usually disting-uished by personal lenity 
and forbearance, took the lead in urg-ing* measures of severity, 
and declared that he was " moved with indignation to see that 
there should be such unworthy members of this g-reat body who 
can. without blushing*, open their mouths in favour of rebels and 
parricides.*' He moved the adjournment of the house till the 1st 
of March, it being" understood that the condemned noblemen 
would be executed in the interval ; but he carried his motion only 
by a majority of seven. 

In the upper house, a still more effectual stand was made on 
the side of mercy. The Duke of Richmond, a near relative of 
Lord Derwentwater, consented to present a petition in his favour, 
though he voted ag-ainst it. But the Earl of Nottingham, pre- 
sident of the council, who in former times had been a supporter 
of Tory principles, suddenly g-ave his support to the petition. 
This unexpected defection from the ministerial ranks made the 
resistance of the government unavailing, and an address to the 
king- for a reprieve for such of the condemned lords as should 
deserve his mercy was carried by a majority of five. This result 
astonished and alarmed the ministers, who met in council the 
same evening, and drew up the king's answer to the address, 
merely stating- " that on this and all other occasions he would do 
what he thought most consistent with the dignity of his crown 
and the safety of his people." It was determined to comply 
with the opinion and feeling of the House of Lords so far 
as to respite the Earl of Carnwath and Lord W^iddrington ; 
hut to prevent any further interference, the three remaining 
peers were ordered for execution next morning. The same 
evening', however, Lord Nithisdale escaped out of the Tower; 
and thus the number of noble victims was Unally reduced to 
two — the English Lord Derwentwater, and the Scottish Lord 
Kenmure ; and at an early hour next morning, 24th February, 
they were brought to the scaffold on Tower-hill. 

Lord Derwentwater was first conducted to the fatal spot. He 
was obsei'ved to turn very pale as he ascended the steps ;' but his 
voice was firm, and his demeanour steady and composed. He 



THE LAST EARL OF DERWENTWATER, 

passed some time in prayer, and then requested permission to 
read a paper which he had drawn up. This request being readily- 
granted, he went to the rails of the scaffold and read the following 
statement : — 

" Being in a few minutes to appear before the tribunal of God,, 
where, though most unworthy, I hope to find mercy, which I 
have not found from men now in power, I have endeavoured to 
make my peace with his Divine Majesty, by most humbly beg- 
ging* pardon for all the sins of my life ; and I doubt not of a mer- 
ciful forgiveness, through the merits of the passion and death of 
my Saviour, Jesus Christ, for which end I earnestly desire the 
prayers of all good Christians. After this I am to ask the par- 
don of those whom I might have scandalised by pleading guilty 
at my trial. Such as were permitted to come to me told me 
that, having been undeniably in arms, pleading guilty was but 
the consequence of having submitted to mercy ; and many argu- 
ments were used to prove there was nothing of moment in sa 
doing. But I am sensible that in this I have made bold with 
loyalty, having never any other but King James the Third for my 
rightful and lawful sovereign. Him I had an inclination to 
serve from my infancy, and was moved thereto by a natural love 
I had to his person, knowing him to be capable of making his 
people happy. And though he had been of a different religion 
from mine, I should have done for him all that lay in my power, 
as my ancestors have done for his predecessors, being thereto 
bound by the laws of God and man. Wherefore, if in this affair I 
have acted rashly, it ought not to affect the innocent. I intended 
to wrong nobody, but to serve my king and country, and that 
without self-interest, hoping by the example I gave, to have- 
induced others to do their duty ; and God, who sees the secrets- 
of my heart, knows I speak truth. Some means have been pro- 
posed to me for saving my life, which I looked upon as incon- 
sistent with honour and conscience, and therefore I rejected 
them ; for, with God's assistance, I shall prefer my death to the 
doing a base unworthy action. I only wish now that the laying 
down my life might contribute to the seiwice of my king and 
country, and the re-establishment of the ancient and ninda- 
mental constitution of these kingdoms, without which no lasting 
peace or time happiness can attend them. Then I should indeed 
part with my life even with pleasure. As it is, I can only pray 
that these blessings may be bestowed upon my dear country; 
and since I can do no more, I beseech God to accept of my life 
as a small sacrifice towards it. I die a Roman Catholic. I am 
in perfect charity with all the world, I thank God for it, even 
with those of the present government who are most instrumental 
in my death. I freely forgive such as ungenerously reported 
false things of me ; and I hope to be forgiven the trespasses of 
my youth by the Father of infinite mercy, into whose hands I 
commend my soul. — Ja. Derwentwater. 

23 



THE LAST EARL OF DERWENTWATER. 

" P.S. — If that prince who now governs had given me my life, 
I should have thought myself obliged never more to have taken 
up arms against him." 

After reading this paper, he turned to the block, and viewed 
it closely, and finding in it a rough place that might hurt his 
neck, he desired the executioner to chip it off. This being done, 
he prepared himself for the blow by taking off his coat and 
waistcoat ; and fitting his head to the block, he told the execu- 
tioner that, upon his repeating for the third time the sentence, 
'*' Lord Jesus receive my spirit ! " he was to perform his office. 
At these words, accordingly, the executioner raised his axe and 
severed the earl's head from his body at one blow. 

Thus died, in his twenty-eighth year, the unfortunate Earl of 
Derwentwater, his fate drawing tears from those who witnessed 
his unhappy end. In a few minutes afterwards, the equally un- 
fortunate and virtuous Earl of Kenmure mounted the scaffold, 
and, with heroic resolution, submitted to the same violent and 
vengeful infliction. 

It was reported that, the evening before his execution, the 
Earl of Derwentwater sent for Mr Roome, an undertaker, to 
give him directions regarding his funeral, and desired that a 
silver plate might be put upon his coffin, with an inscription 
importing that he died a sacrifice for his lawful sovereign : 
but Mr Roome scrupling to comply with this request, he was 
dismissed. This was the reason no hearse was provided for his 
body at his execution. His head was merely taken up by one of 
his servants and put into a clean handkerchief, and the body 
being wrapped in black cloth, they were both conveyed to the 
Tower. The remains were said to have been subsequently buried 
in St Giles's-in-the-Fields. It is not known whether a mock 
funeral only took place, or the body was afterwards disinterred, 
but it is certain that it was carried into Northumberland, and 
deposited in the family vault at Dilston. According to tradition, 
the remains of the gallant but unfortunate nobleman were con- 
veyed to his native county with great pomp, the procession, 
however, moving only by night, and resting by day in chapels 
dedicated to the exercise of the Roman Catholic religion, where 
the funeral services of that church were performed over the body 
during the day, until the approach of night permitted the pro- 
■cession to resume its progress northward. One of the chapels in 
which the body rested was at Dagnam Park, near Romford, in 
Essex, the house which Lady Derwentwater rented during her 
lord's imprisonment. At Ingatestone, in the same county, thete 
was, a few years ago, in an almshouse founded by Lord Petre's 
family, an old woman who had frequently heard from her 
mother that she assisted in sewing on the earl's head. At 
Thorndon (Lord Petre's seat) there is an oaken chest with an 
inscription in brass, engraved by Lady Derwentwater's orders, 
containing Lord Derwentwater's dress which he wore on the 

24 



THE LAST EARL OF DERWENTWATER. 

scaiFold — coat, waistcoat, and small clothes of black velvet ; stock- 
ings that rolled over the knee ; a wig" of very fair hair, that fell 
down on each side of the breast ; a part of his shirt, the neclc 
having" been cut away ; the black serge that covered the scaffold ;, 
and also a piece which covered the block, stiff with blood, and 
with the marks of the cut of the axe in it. 

In the north of England, the fate of this young and 
generous -hearted nobleman excited very general commisera- 
tion. He had been greatly beloved for his amiable qualities 
in private life, his frankness, hospitality, and high honour : his- 
memory is still cherished and revered in Northumberland, 
where numerous instances of his affability and beneficence 
are related with feelings of sympathy and regret. " The ap- 
parent cruelty of his execution led to his being esteemed in 
the light of a martyr ; handkerchiefs steeped in his blood were 
preserved as sacred relics ; and when the mansion-house was 
demolished, amid the regrets of the neighbourhood, there was 
great difficulty in obtaining hands to assist in a work of destruc- 
tion which was considered almost sacrilegious. The ignorant 
peasantry, too, were not slow to receive the superstitious stories 
that were propagated ; and often has the wandering rustic, beside 
the winter's hearth, listened to the fearful tale of how the spouts 
of Dilston Hall ran blood, and the very corn which was in the 
act of being ground came from the mill tinged with a sanguine 
hue, on the day the earl was beheaded. The aurora borealis was 
observed to flash with unwonted brilliancy on that fatal night — 
an omen, it was said, of Heaven's wrath; and to this day many of 
the country people know that meteor only by the name of ' Lord 
Derwentwater's lights.'"* 

Lord Derwentwater left two children, a son and daughter. 
The latter, born in 1^16, after her father's death, married in 1732 
Lord Petre. The son died in France at the age of nineteen, in 
consequence, it is said, of his horse having taken fright and 
dashed through a doorway with him, by which he was so much 
injured as to cause his death. Lady Derwentwater died of small- 
pox at the age of thirty, and was buried at Louvaine. 

Some time after the execution of Lords Derwentwater and. 
Kenmure, several of the less distinguished leaders of the rebellion 
perished at Tyburn ; among these, however, were not numbered 
Foster, Mackintosh, and Charles lladcliffe, who, as well as some 
other persons, effected their escape from Newgate. The gallant 
Charles Radcliffe, however, escaped only for a time the death 
to which he was condemned (May 8, 1716). He found an 
asylum" in France, where he lived in a state of great indi- 
gence,- -till the Chevalier being obliged to quit the French 
territory,-' Mr Radcliffe followed him, and subsisted on a pen- 
sion allowed him by that prince. After some time, he returned 

* Ilowitt's Visits to Remarkable Places, second series, p. 601. 



THE LAST EARL OF DERWENTWATER. 

to Paris, where, in 17'24, he married Lady Charlotte Marj^ 
Living-stone, Countess of Newburg-h in her own rig-ht. In 1733, 
and au'ain in 1735, he paid a visit to Eng-land, and made an un- 
successful attempt to obtain a pardon. At last his ardent spirit 
was ag-ain roused to action by the gallant attempt of Prince 
Charles Stuart, in 1745, to reg-ain the throne of his ancestors ; 
and, accompanied by his son and several Scotch and Irish officers, 
he embarked on board a French ship of war, loaded with arms 
■and warhke stores, bound for the coast of Scotland, for the use of 
the insurg-ents. His son, when taken, was at first supposed to be 
Prince Charles Stuart's younger brother ; but the mistake being 
discovered, he was sent to France in exchange ; for, having been 
born in France, he was entitled to be regarded as a French subject. 
After lying a year in confinement, Charles Radclilfe was brought 
to the bar of "^the King's Bench, when the sentence which had 
been passed upon him thirty years before was again read to him. 
Upon this occasion he endeavoured to perplex the court regard- 
ing his identity ; but it was established satisfactorily by several 
wi'tnesses, among others, by the barber of Newgate, who deposed 
to having operated upon him at the time that he shaved the* pri- 
soners taken at the battle of Preston. Three persons were also 
brought from Northumberland, who recognised him by a scar 
on his face, the effect of a wound he had received when a boy 
plajdng in a blacksmith's shop at Dilston. Mr Radcliffe pleaded 
that he was a subject of France, and that he held a commission 
from the French king; but the court overruled the plea, and he 
was condemned to die. He perished on a scaffold erected for his 
execution on Tower-hill, on the 8th of December 1746, in the 
fifty-fourth year of his age. Till the last moment of his exis- 
tence, this unfortunate gentleman never lost his intrepid bear- 
ing. He came upon the scaffold dressed in a suit of scarlet 
faced with black velvet, and trimmed with gold, a gold-laced 
waistcoat, white silk stockings, and a white feather in his hat, 
and conducted himself throughout the dreadful scene with a 
manly courage and proud bearing which seemed to indicate that 
he held the malice of his enemies and the stroke of death in equal 
scorn. 

DERWENTWATER ESTATES. 

The magnificent estates of the Derwentwater family were 
confiscated by government after the execution of the earl in 
1716. Some of these were in Cumberland, in the vicinity of 
that beautiful lake from which their title was derived ; but the 
ancient baronial seat of the family was at Dilston, in Northum- 
berland, three miles from Hexham, and eighteen west from New- 
castle. Dilston is a corruption of Devilston, and was originally 
the residence of the family of that name. It is beautifully 
situated on an eminence, encircled on two sides by the little 
stony rivulet called the Devil's AVater, about a mile from its 

26 



THE LAST EARL OF DERWENTWATER. 

confluence with the Tyne. The surrounding scenery is highly 
picturesque, and the terrace on which the house stood commands 
an extensive view over the highly-cultivated valley watered by 
the Tyne. The traces of the broad gravelled walks and flower- 
gardens which once surrounded the mansion may still be seen. 
A bridpfe of one arch, which is still entire, led to the deer-park 
on the opposite side of the rivulet ; and the remains of terraced 
drives and rides may yet be traced in the adjoining woods. 
But 

The tim'rous deer hath left the lawn, 

The oak a victim falls, 
The gentle traveller sighs when shown 

These desolated walls. 

The mansion, which was erected by Francis, the first earl, 
occupied three sides of a square, enclosing a handsome court, 
paved with black limestone. But after the contiscation of the 
estates, it was allowed to fall into decay, and the ruins were 
removed in 1768. The only part of the edifice now remaining 
is the old tower or border keep of the Devilstones, which 
formed, as it were, a nucleus for the modern building. The 
apartments, which are still distinguishable, are described in the 
plans now in the Greenwich Hospital office at Dilston as " the 
nurserie" and "nurses' rooms." "It is an aifecting subject of 
contemplation," says Mrs Grey, " that while the spacious halls, 
the banqueting rooms, the ' hunting-room ' — doubtless once deco- 
rated with the insignia of rural sports — the ^marble court' and 
costly fountains, are levelled in the dust, the nursery alone has 
' a local habitation and a name ; ' but 

Ruined and lone is their roofless abode — 

weeds carpet its floor ; the bat and the owl build their nests 
there, and the ' warrior's arm,' which in careless infancy was 
cradled here on its downy bed, or encircled a mother's neck in 
'its loving clasp, now 

Lies nerveless on the pillow of its shame. 

His dishonoured ashes sleep in the family vault below the adjoin- 
ing chapel, a simple unornamented building, containing merely 
a few oaken pews and altar rails, a space being left for benches 
probably occupied by the servants and neighbouring cottagers."* 
The vault was opened in 1805 by desire of the commissioners 
of Greenwich Hospital, in order to ascertain whether the Earl of 
Derwentwater's head was buried with the body, which had been 
doubted. The body, which was found to be deposited in several 
coffins, was embalmed, and the head lying by it, with the marks 
of the axe clearly discernible. The hair was quite perfect, the 
features regular, and wearing the appearance of youth, and the 
shroud but little decayed. The Derwentwater estates were held 

* Howitt's Visits, &c. p. 582. 

27 



THE LAST EARL OF DERWENTWATER. 

by trustees until 1735, when they were conferred upon that 
noble institution, the Royal Hospital for Seamen, at Greenwich. 
Their annual value now amounts to £60,000. The Cumberland 
portion of them was disposed of a few years ago to Mr Marshall, 
the eminent manufacturer of Leeds. The Earl of Newburgh, the 
descendant of Charles Radcliffe, petitioned parliament for the 
reversal of the attainder, but he only succeeded in obtaining, as 
a compensation for some claim he had upon the lands, an annuity 
of £2500. 

The following ballad, w^hich has long been popular in the north 
of England, may appropriately conclude our account of the last 
Earl o± Der went water. 

DERWENTWATER'S FAREWELL. 

Earewell to pleasant Dilston Hall, 

My father's ancient seat ; 
A stranger now must call thee his, 

Which gars my heart to greet. 
Farewell each kindly well-known face 

My heart has held so dear ; 
My tenants now must leave their lands. 

Or hold their lives in fear. 

No more along the banks of Tyne 

I'll rove in autumn gay ; 
No more I'll hear at early dawn 

The lav'rocks wake the day. 
Then fare-thee-well brave Widdrington, 

And Foster ever true ; 
Dear Shaftsbury and Errington, 

Receive my last adieu ! 

And fare-thee-well George CoUingwood, 

Since fate has put us down ; 
If thou and I have lost our lives, j 

Our king has lost his crown. ; 

Farewell, farewell my lady dear, 

111, ill thou counselledst me ; 
I never more may see the babe 

That smiles upon thy knee ! 

And fare-thee-well ray bonny gray steed, 

That carried me aye so free ; 
I wish I had been asleep in my bed 

Last time I mounted thee. 
The warning-bell now bids me cease ; 

My trouble's nearly o'er ; . - _ 

Yon sun that rises from the sea 

Shall rise on me no more ! 

Albeit that here in London town 

It is my fate to die— 
Oh carry me to Northumberland, 
In my father's grave to lie. 
28 



ESCAPE OF THE EAKL OF NITHISDALE. 

There chant my solemn requiem 

In Hexham's holy towers ; 
And let six maids of fair Tynedale 

Scatter my grave with flowers. 

And when the head that wears the crown 

Shall he laid low like mine, 
Some honest hearts may then lament 

For Eadcliffe's fallen line. 
Farewell to pleasant Dilston Hall, 

My father's ancient seat ; 
A stranger now must call thee his, 

Which gars my heart to greet. 



ESCAPE OF THE EARL OF NITHISDALE. 

The Earl of Nithisdale, as has been mentioned, was fortunate 
in making" his escape from the Tower on the nig'ht preceding 
the morning appointed for his execution. The particulars of his 
lordship's escape have shed a glory over female devotedness. 
But for the love, prudence, and heroism of his lady, he would 
most certainly have suffered the same violent death as that of 
the unfortunate Derwentwater and Kenmure. The history of 
this remarkable occurrence is as follows : — 

The Countess of Nithisdale having heard that her husband 
was a prisoner, and in peril of his life, hastened from the family 
seat in Scotland in order to employ every means in her power 
to save him from his anticipated fate, or at least to be near him 
in his last moments. Her melancholy journey was performed 
in the dead of winter, and under many difficulties. The ground 
was so deeply covered with snow, that the posts and all ordinary 
conveyances were stopped, and she was obliged to ride on horse- 
V. back from Newcastle to London, a distance of three hundred 
'miles. On her arrival in town, she presented petitions to the 
ting, and used all other expedients to procure a remission of the 
sentence against the earl, but without success. Pardon being 
evidently hopeless, she resolved on delivering her husband by 
other means. Escape in the disguise of a female occurred as 
the plan most likely to succeed. Settling on this device, and 
having with some difficulty procured his lordship's consent, she 
confided her intentions to a faithful female attendant, Evans ; 
and, finally, when about to put her design in execution, pro- 
cured the assistance of a Mrs Mills, with whom she lodged, and 
a Mrs Morgan. On the evening of Friday the 23d of February 
1716, the next morning being that on which the unfortunate 
lords were to suffer, the countess proceeded with Mrs Mills and 
j\frs Morgan in a hackney-coach to the Tower. What ensued 
will be best described in her ladyship's own language, in a letter 
which she afterwards wrote to her husband's sister, the Countess 
of Traquair, recently made public. 

29 



ESCAPE OF THE EARL OF NITHISDALE. 

" "N^Tien we were in the coach, I never ceased talking-, that Mrs 
Mills and Mrs Morgan might have no leisure to reflect. Their 
siirprise and astonishment when I first opened my design to 
them had made them consent, without ever thinking of the 
consequences. On our arrival at the Tower, the first I intro- 
duced was Mrs Morgan ; for I was only allowed to take in one 
at a time. She hrought in the clothes that were to serve Mrs 
Mills, when she left her own behind her. When Mrs Morgan 
had taken off what she had brought for my purpose, I conducted 
her back to the staircase ; and, in g'oing, I begged her to send 
me in my maid to dress me ; that I was afraid of being too late 
to present my last petition that night, if she did not come imme- 
diately. I despatched her safe, and went partly down stairs to 
meet Mrs Mills, who had the precaution to hold her handker- 
chief to her face, as was very natural for a woman to do when 
she was going to bid her last farewell to a friend on the eve of 
his execution." I had, indeed, desired her to do it, that my lord' 
mis'ht STo out in the same manner. Her eyebrows were rather 
inc'lined to be sandy, and my lord's were dark, and very thick : 
however, I had prepared some paint of the colour of hers, to 
diso-uise his with. I also bought an artificial head-dress of the 
saine coloured hair as hers ; and I painted his face with white, 
and his cheeks with rouge, to hide his long beard, which he had 
not had time to shave. AH this provision I had before left in 
the Tower. The poor guards, to whom my slight liberality the 
day before had endeared me, let me go quietly with my com- 
pany, and were not so strictly on the watch as they usually had 
been ; and the more so as they were persuaded, from what I had 
told them, that the prisoners would obtain their pardon. I made 
Mrs Mills take off her own hood, and put on that which I had 
brought for her. I then took her by the hand, and led her out 
of my lord's chamber ; and in passing throug-h the next room, in 
which there were several people, with all the concern imagi- 
nable, I said, ' My dear Mi's Catherme, go in all haste, aijd 
send me my waiting-maid : she certainly cannot reflect how 
late it is. She forgets that I am to present a petition to-night ; 
and if I let slip this opportunity, I am undone, for to-morrow 
will be too late. Hasten her as much as possible, for I shall 
be on thorns till she comes.' Everybody in the room, who 
were chiefly the guards' wives and daughters, seemed 'to cojn- 
passionate me exceedingly ; and the sentinel officiously opened 
the door. 

When I had seen her out, I returned back to my lord, and 
finished dressing him. I had taken care that jMrs Mills did not 
go out crying as she came in, that my lord might the better pass 
for the lady who came in crying and afflicted ; and the more so, 
because he had the same dress which she wore. When I had 
almost finished dressing my lord in all my petticoats excepting 
one, I perceived that it was growing dark, and was afraid that 

30 



ESCAPE OF THE EARL OF NITHISDALE. 

the light of the candles might betray us ; so I resolved to set off. 
I went out, leading- him by the hand, and he held his handker- 
chief to his eyes. I spoke to him in the most piteous and afflicted 
tone of voice, bewailing bitterly the negligence of Evans, who 
had ruined me by her delay. Then said I, ' My dear Mrs Betty, 
for the love of God run quickly and bring her with you. You 
know my lodging, and if ever you made despatch in your life, 
do it at present : I am almost distracted with this disappoint- 
ment.' The guards opened the doors, and I went down stairs 
with him, still conjuring him to make all possible despatch. As 
soon as he had cleared the door, I made him walk before me, for 
fear the sentinel should take notice of his walk ; but I still 
continued to press him to make all the despatch he possibly 
could. At the bottom of the stairs I met my dear Evans, into 
whose hands I confided him. I had before engaged Mr Mills to 
be in readiness before the Tower, to conduct him to some place 
of safety, in case we succeeded. Evans and Mr Mills having 
found a place of security, they conducted my lord to it. 

In the meanwhile, as I had pretended to have sent the young 
lady on a message, I was obliged to return up stairs, and go back 
to my lord's room, in the same feigned anxiety of being too late ; 
so that everybody seemed sincerely to sympathise with my dis- 
tress. When I was in the room, I talked to him as if he had 
been really present, and answered my own questions in my lord's 
voice as nearly as I could imitate it. I walked up and down, as 
if we were conversing together, till I thought they had time 
enough thoroughly to clear themselves of the guards. I then, 
thought proper to make off also. I opened the door, and stood 
half in it, that those in the outward chamber might hear what I 
said ; but held it so close, that they could not look in. I bade 
my lord a formal farewell for that night ; and added, that some- 
thing more than usual must have happened to make Evans 
negligent on this important occasion, who had always been so 
punctual in the smallest trifles, that I saw no other remedy than 
to go in person : that, if the Tower were still open when I finished 
my business, I would return that nig-ht ; but that he mi"-ht be 
assured I would be with him as early in the morning as I could 
piifi admittance into the Tower, and I flattered myself I should 
bring favourable news. Then, before I shut the door, I pulled 
through the string of the latch, so that it could only be opened 
on the inside. I then shut it Avith some degree of force, that I 
might be sure of its being well shut. I said to the servant as I 
passed by, who was ignorant of the whole transaction, that he 
need not carry in candles to his master till my lord sent for him, 
as he desired to finish some prayers first. 1 went down stairs, 
and called a coach. As there were several on the stand, I drove 
home to my lodgings, where poor Mr Mackenzie had been wait- 
ing to carry the petition, in case my attempt had failed. I told 
him there was no need of any petition, as my lord was safe out 

31 



ESCAPE OF THE EARL OF NITHISDALE. 

of the Tower, and out of the hands of his enemies, as I hoped • 
hut that I did not know where he was. 

Having" discharg-ed the coach, I went in a sedan chair to the 
house of the Duchess of Montrose, who had always borne a part 
in my distresses, and to whom I confided the joyful intellig-ence 
of his lordship's escape. When I left the duchess I went to a 
house which Evans had found out for me, and where she promised 
to acquaint me where my lord was. I learned that his lordship 
was in the house of a poor woman, directly opposite to the guard- 
house, and I went thither. The woman had but one small room 
up one pair of stairs, and a very small bed in it. We threw our- 
selves upon the bed, that we mig-ht not be heard walking' up and 
down. She left us a bottle of wine and some bread, and Mrs 
Mills broug-ht us some more in her pocket the next day. We 
subsisted on this provision from Thursday till Saturday night, 
when Mrs Mills came, and conducted my lord to the Venetian 
ambassador's. We did not communicate the affair to his excels 
lency ; but one of his servants concealed him in his own room 
till Wednesday, on which day the ambassador's coach-and-six 
was to go down to Dover to meet his brother. My lord put on 
a livery, and went down in the retinue, without the least sus- 
picion, to Dover, w^here Mr Mitchell (which was the name of the 
ambassador's servant) hired a small vessel, and immediately set 
sail for Calais. The passage was so remarkably short, that the 
captain threw out this reflection, that the wind could not have 
served better if his passengers had been flying for their lives, 
little thinking it to be really the case. Mr Mitchell might have 
easily returned without being suspected of having been concerned 
in mv lord's escape ; but my lord seemed inclined to have him 
continue with him ; which he did, and has at present a good place 
under our young master. 

For my part, I absconded to the house of a very honest man 
in Drury-Lane, where I remained till I was assured of my lord's 
safe arrival on the continent. With regai^ to myself, it was 
decided by government, that if I remained concealed, no farther 
search should be made ; but if that I appeared either in Eng- 
land or Scotland, I should be secured. But that was not suffi- 
cient for me, unless I could submit to expose my son to bego-ary." 
The countess concludes her interesting relation by mentioning 
that she went to Scotland to secure the family papers, and having 
effected this object, she returned to London, and made a strong 
appeal on her own and her son's behalf to George II: This 
petition was treated with indignity; and she was advised by her 
friends to leave the kingdom, the countess, accordingljr, went 
abroad, and joined her exiled husband. It may be added, that the 
Nithisdale peerage, over which this lady's conjugal affection and 
heroic intrepidity shed a brilliant lustre, was never restored after 
the attainder of 1715, and the last direct heir of this noble house 
unfortunately perished a few years ago in the waters of the Nith. 

32 




THE HEROINE OF SIBERIA. 




^^ NE of the most popular stories ever written, is that 
entitled Elizabeth, or the Exiles of Siberia. It was 
the production of Madame Cottin, a French authoress, 
and has been translated into every European language, 
the English version having been constantly read for more 
than half a century with the most eager interest, espe- 
cially by young persons. It has passed through number- 
less editions, and still enjoys unabated popularity. Though 
published by Madame Cottin as a fiction, the tale is well known 
to have been founded on an incident which occurred during the 
reign of Paul I., Emperor of Russia, who died in 1801. We pro- 
pose, from authentic sources, to narrate the interesting incident 
as it actually occurred. 

The real name of the young heroine was Prascovie Lopou- 
loff. Her father, who belonged to a noble family originally 
from the Ukraine, was born in Hungary, where the chances of 
life had induced his parents to settle. Early in life, Lopouloff 
entered the Austrian service as an officer of the Black Hussars, 
but afterwards marrying a Russian lady, adopted her country as 
his own. He hved, however, but a short time in retirement; 
and once more taking up arms, served for many years in the 
Russian ai-my, making several campaigns against the Turks. He 
so distinguished himself at the sieges of Ismail and Otchakoff, 
that he obtained the special commendations of his superiors. 

Some time after his return from these campaigns, Lopouloff 
was arrested, tried, and condemned to exile in Siberia for life. 
His imputed crime has never transpired : for his trial by an in- 
No.36. ^ ' 1 



THE HEROINE OF SIBERIA. 

ferior tribunal, as well as its revision in the superior Russian 
courts, was conducted in profound secrecy ; and its record has 
been since lost. His appeals for a mitigation of this harsh sen- 
tence were disregarded, and he, his wife, and infant daughter, 
were summarily driven with other prisoners to the district 
selected for his penal residence. 

Siberia, as most of our readers may have learned, comprehends 
not only a vast proportion of the immense Russian empu^e, but 
more than a third of Asia.* It is the coldest and least agree- 
able region in the world ; hence parts of it have been selected 
by succeeding Russian autocrats as penal settlements for cri- 
minals, who, according as their offences are great or small, 
are sent to the most frigid or to the most genial of its loca- 
lities. To mark different degrees of punishment, the prisoners 
are also condemned to work in the mines with which Siberia 
abounds, to till the ground for the benefit of the state, or simply 
to suffer banishment fi'om home and kindred without being- 
obliged to partake in forced labours. All are allowed a pension 
from the government, which, though it varies as much in amount 
as the degrees of punishment, yet is never more than sufficient to 
keep body and soul together. In some rare cases the emperors have 
permitted the friends of the condemned, who happen to be afflu- 
ent enough, to send them occasional assistance ; but this is never 
allowed to exceed one thousand roubles per annum.f Again, the 
wives and families of some of those condemned for lesser crimes 
are allowed to live with them in the places of banishment. 

Whatever Lopouloff's offence may have been, it is clear that it 
was of no great enormity, for the whole of the indulgences were 
extended to him. In the first place, he was sent to the most 
genial district of the vast wilderness, namely, a village called 
Ischim, in a province of the same name w^hich joins the southern 
boundary of the Tobolsk province, the chief town of which (also 
called Tobolsk) is the capital of all Siberia. Ischim may be gene- J| 
rally described as consisting of arid plains, divided by lakes of j^^ 
stagnant and unwholesome water, separating it from the country 
of the Kirgins, a wandering people. It is bounded on the left 
by the river Irtish, and on the right by the Tobol, the naked and 
barren shores of which present to the eye fragments of rocks 
promiscuously heaped together, ^^^th here and there a solitary fir 
tree rearing its head. Nevertheless, there are towards the banks 
of the Irtish woods of some extent. Yet, despite its unpromising 
character, Ischim is so universally considered the best part of the 
territory, that it has received the appellation of the " Italy of 

* Siberia extends 3500 miles from east to west, and 1200 miles from 
north to south. 

t At the time to which this history refers, most of the currency of 
Russia was in paper, and a rouble equalled about lOjd. sterling. The 
silver roubles — then rarely, but now universally current — are equal to 3s. 
lid. sterling. 
2 



^ 



THE HEROINE OF SIBERIA. 

Siberia." But this is chiefly owing" to the four months' summer 
which it enjoys, though the rest of the year is intensely cold. 
A heavy snow generally covers the earth in September, and 
seldom 'disappears till May; but during" the intervening sea- 
son, nature loses no time in her operations. The celerity with 
which the trees are covered with verdure and the fields with 
crops, is scarcely credible. The operations of the husbandman 
are of course obliged to be equally rapid ; and from this circum- 
stance many prisoners not condemned to forced labour — together 
with their relatives, if they have any — find a tenn of active and 
not unprofitable employment during the short agricultural season. 

When Lopouloif arrived at Ischim, he was informed that the 
Emperor had apportioned him the miserable pittance of ten 
kopecks* a-day to subsist upon. This is the sum invariably 
allotted to prisoners, who, like Lopouloff, are not condemned to 
labour in the public works. It was fortunate that when his heavy 
misfortune fell upon him, LopoulofTs family consisted only of his 
wife and infant daughter, and the solace which they afforded him 
very much softened the rigour of his altered situation. Prascovie, 
the daughter, was too young to feel the full force of the punish- 
ment inflicted on her parents, and as she grew up, seemed happy 
and contented with her lot, because she had known no other. 
Before she was twelve years old, she was able, by the labour of 
her own little hands, to add a few comforts to her parents' bare 
subsistence. Sometimes she assisted the laundresses of the vil- 
lage ; at others she helped the farmers by doing such work as her 
strength permitted, at harvest time working with the reapers. 
In payment for such assistance she occasionally received money, 
but more frequently eggs, vegetables, and sometimes corn. Her 
mother occupied herself entirely in the affairs of their poor 
and meagre household, and seemed to bear her deplorable fate 
with patience. Lopouloff", on the contrary, accustomed from his 
earliest youth to affluence and an active military life, was less 
resigned to his fate, and seemed at intervals plunged into a depth 
of despondency which his misfortunes, great as they were, hardly 
justified. 

Some years of his exile had passed over when he addressed 
a petition for a modification of his sentence through the governor 
ot Siberia to the Emperor, which was conveyed by an officer who 
happened to pass through Ischim on the business of the state, 
and who promised to support its prayer with all the court influ- 
ence he possessed. Years, however, passed without any reply 
arriving ; and the appearance of any government courier or tra- 
veller m Ischim — which was a very rare event — added to the 
torment of deferred hope to which Lopouloff was a prey. 

During one of these wretched moments Prascovie, returning 

* A kopeck is the one-huudredth part of a silver rouble, or about two- 
thirds of a farthing. 

8 



THE HEROINE OF SIBERIA. 

from the harvest field, found her mother bathed in tears, and her 
father with a countenance so pale and so full of desperation, that 
she trembled with dread. She threw herself into her father's 
arms, intreating- him to tell her the cause of his extreme wretched- 
ness ; and he, touched by her affection and her tears, told her 
that a court messenger had again arrived, and his petition 
still remained unheeded. For the hundredth time, he bewailed 
the hard fate by which, for his fault, she and her mother were 
condemned to continue with him, for the rest of their lives, the 
miserable existence they now dragged on. Prascovie was deeply 
affected by this information. Till now her father — absorbed in 
inwardly bewailing his fate — had never openly avowed his real 
situation, to which he forbade his wife ever to make allusion ; so 
that up to this moment Prascovie was not fully aware that her 
father was an exile. 

It was at this epoch that Prascovie Lopouloff first entertained 
the idea of travelling on foot to St Petersburg, to demand from 
the emperor in person her father's pardon. She was about 
fifteen yeai*s old ; and from the day she conceived this romantic 
project, a degree of animation was infused into her character 
for which her parents could not account. She kept her reso- 
lution a profound secret, not ha\'ing courage to reveal so wild 
and apparently impossible a scheme. Near the cottage was a 
wood, to which she retired when leisure permitted, and there, 
in the deepest solitude, she prayed to God to give her strength of 
mind, first to acquaint her father of her intentions, and next to 
carry them into effect. After much hesitation, she at last found 
herself strong enough to tell her father. Having gone as usual to 
the wood, and prayed to be inspired with persuasive words, she 
returned towards the cottage, intending to tell her mother 
fij'st, so that her project might be communicated through the 
more sympathising and approachable of her parents. She per- 
ceived her father seated at the door smoking his pipe, and imme- 
diately decided not to lose that opportunity. Coura^-eously 
standing before him, she began to explain her plan, and asked 
with the most ardent importunity permission to depart for St 
Petersburg. Lopouloff listened with attention, and did not in- 
terrupt her with a single word. When she had finished, he 
rose with the utmost gravity, took her by the hand, and led her 
into the cottage, where his wife was preparing the dinner. 
" Wife ! " cried Lopouloff, " I bring you good news, and with it a 
powerful protector. Prascovie has made up her mind to leave 
us immediately, go to St Petersburg, and ask the Emperor to be 
so good as to give me a free pardon, without more ado ! ^ He 
then, in a more merry mood than his daughter had ever seen 
him, repeated all Prascovie had advanced. " She would do better 
to mind her work," replied the wife, " than filling her mind with 
such nonsense." 

Poor Prascovie had fortified herself with strong arguments 

4 



THE HEROINE OF SIBERIA. 

against the ang-er or the serious objections of her parents, 
but their ridicule seemed to annihilate her hopes. She cried 
bitterly; and her father, the moment his unusual gaiety had 
passed away, resumed the ordinary severity of his character; 
but Madame LopoulofF soothed her distress by embracing- her. 
" Come, daughter," she said, handing her the table-cloth, " be 
a good girl; prepare the table, and you shall depart for St 
Petersbui*g when you have more leisure." This scene was 
better calculated to disgust the girl with her project than the 
severest reproaches. The humiliation, however, which she felt 
at being* thus treated hke a child soon passed away. At least 
one point had been gained — the ice was broken, and now that her 
parents were aware of her desires, she returned to the charge 
whenever opportunity offered. Her intreaties to be allowed to 
go were so importunate, and so often repeated, that at length her 
father, losing patience, scolded her seriously, and forbade her to 
speak on the subject again. Her mother, with more kindness, 
endeavoured to persuade her that she was too young to think 
of such an enterprise. 

In this manner three years passed away, during which 
Madame Lopouloff suffered from a dangerous illness, and Pras- 
covie was obliged to be silent on her favourite subject till more 
favourable times. But she never failed to join to her ordinary 
prayers an earnest supplication that the Almighty would put it 
into her father's heart to allow of her pious mission. During 
the last three years, the illness of her mother, and her own grow- 
ing experience, gave greater weight to her character in her 
father's eyes ; and she was able at length boldly to discuss her 
project when opportunity served. LopoulofF and his wife still 
considered it as one of those childish ideas which often remain 
in the mind after the character has been formed : still, the extra- 
ordinary frequency of her intreaties, and the energy with which 
they were urged, had their effect ; the more so as her health and 
spirits manifestly suffered by their repeated refusals. They no 
longer treated her project as a wild pleasantry, but tried to dis- 
suade her from it with tears and caresses. " We are old," they 
would say, " with neither fortune nor a friend in the whole of 
Russia : have you then the courage to abandon, in this desert, 
the parents of whom you are the sole consolation ? " Prascovie 
could in such cases only reply with tears; but her resolution 
was, nevertheless, not in the smallest degree shaken. 

During her unceasing meditations, a difficulty presented itself 
far more real than her parents' opposition. She could not travel 
without a passport, and it was by no means likely that the 
governor of Tobolsk would grant one. However, she deter- 
mined to make the attempt, and applied to a person in the 
village who was in the habit of drawing up petitions for such 
purposes. Her father's signature was necessary, and when the 
document was drawn up, Prascovie intreated Lopouloff's con- 

6 



THE HEROINE OF SIBERIA. 

sent to send it away, to which he, after some resistance, con- 
sented, adding to the despatch a new letter reg-arding his own 
personal affairs. 

From this moment, the despondency by which the girl had 
been afflicted since her mother's illness disappeared, and her 
parents were charmed to perceive her natural health and gaiety 
return. This happy change was solely caused by the strong 
presentiment which she felt that she would obtain the pass- 
port, as soon as time enough elapsed to expect a reply. She 
often loitered on the road, in the hope of meeting the courier 
charged with the letters for Ischim. After enduring the pangs 
of hope deferred for six months, the post brought at length a 
sealed packet addressed to Lopouloff. It was eagerly opened, 
and Prascovie's delight scarcely knew bounds when it was 
found to contain her long -wished passport. To Lopouloff's 
petition, however, there was no answer; and all the hopes of 
favour which for a moment possessed his mind on seeing the 
passport, were instantly changed to disappointment when he 
saw his own petition was disregarded. In the first moment of 
ill humour, he threatened to withdraw his consent from the 
perilous enterprise on which his daughter's mind was set. 

But no discouragement daunted our heroine. She continued 
praying to the Almighty, and hoping on, without allowing the 
smallest doubt of His protection, or of the success of her under- 
taking, to damp her ardour ; and a few days after the receipt of 
the passport, a little incident occurred which gave new life to 
her hopes. Her mother, though a person of strictly religious 
principles, put faith in certain superstitions existing in the Greek 
church, whose tenets are universal in Russia. X^Hien, for in- 
stance, in any little perplexity, it was her practice to seek, in 
certain trifling events, prognostics of the future. One means 
which she employed for this purpose cannot be contemplated 
without censure ; she would take the Bible, and opening it at 
hazard, endeavour to extract from the passage which first caug-ht 
her eye, something analogous to her situation, from which a 
sort of prophecy might be drawn.* Every evening it was 
Lopouloff's practice to read a chapter of Holy Writ aloud to his 
family ; propounding, as he went on, the meaning of difficult 
passages, and explaining such Slavonic words as Prascovie did 
not understand. At the end of a wretched evening which had 
been thus partly employed, there was a mournful silence amongst 
the three solitary beings, when Prascovie, addressing her mother 
with scarcely any other intention than to commence a conver- 
sation, said, " Please, mother, to open the Bible and read the 

* Tliis superstitious custom is not peculiar to Russia. Mohammedans, 
especially those of Egypt, perform the same sort of ceremony with the 
Koran. Even in Scotland — a country in which Holy Writ is more vene- 
rated, perhaps, than in any other — the custom of " picking for texts " for 
the purposes of augury, was common up to the present century. 
6 



THE HEROINE OF SIBERIA. 

eleventh line on the right-hand page." Madame Lopouloff took 
the sacred volume with eag'erness, and opened it with a pin. She 
counted the lines, and in an unusually loud and impressive 
voice read these words: — "Now the angel of God called to 
Hagar out of heaven, and said unto her, What aileth thee, 
H ag-ar ? Fear not." * 

This passag-e offered a striking- analogy to Prascovie's project, 
and her mother, looking* steadfastly at Lopouloff, spoke con- 
cerning" the extraordinary appositeness of the text. But he 
never favoured such unreasonable divinations, and said, " Think 
you that you possess the power to interrogate the Deity by 
opening- His holy word with a pin, and that He will deign 
to answer your foolish and presumptuous demands?" Pras- 
covie replied by declaring- that her trust was in the Almighty, 
and while that continued faithful and unimpaired, there was 
nothing which she might not accomplish. Lopouloff, though 
astonished at her perseverance, was so reluctant to consent to 
her departure, that he kept the passport locked away, lest she 
should go clandestinely. 

At length he found that her health was visibly giving way, 
and that he must either consent to her extraordinary undertaking, 
or perchance lose her altogether. On a certain day, after one of 
her most touching and eloquent solicitations, he was overcome 
by her devotion, and exclaimed to his wife, " What is to be done 
with this child? We must, I suppose, let her go after all." 
Prascovie, transported with joy, threw herself on her father's 
neck. " Be sure," she exclaimed, " that you will never repent 
having listened to me. I will go to St Petersburg, will throw 
myself at our sovereign's feet ; and that Providence which in- 
spired me with the desire to undertake the journey, and who 
has touched your heart to consent to my going, will assuredly 
dispose the emperor in our favour." 

" Alas ! " replied Lopouloff, " do you suppose, poor child, that 
you will be able to speak to the emperor as easily as you talk 
to me ? No, no ; sentinels guard every avenue of his palace, 
and they will not allow you to pass the threshold. Poor, and 
in rags, without influence or any sort of protection, who will 
dare to present you to his notice?" Prascovie felt the force 
of these observations without being discourag-ed. The strong 
presentiment of success which she felt, overcame the mos^t 
startling objections. She pressed more earnestly than ever the 
folly of farther delay, and began to prepare for her departure. 

The entire fortune of the family was found to amount to no 
more than a silver rouble, and all Lopouloff's endeavours to 
augment this small sum were fruitless. The day of the cruel 
separation was fixed for the feast of the holy virgin. The even- 
ing before, as soon as the news spread throughout the village 

* Genesis, chap. xxi. ver. 17. 



THE HEROINE OF SIBERIA. 

that Prascovie was really about to start on her perilous errand, 
all the acquaintances of the LopoulofFs crowded to their cottage. 
In place, however, of assisting- or encouraging Prascovie in her 
enterprise, they said everything they could think of to dissuade 
her from it, with the exception of two. These, who were amongst 
the poorest and most obscure of the prisoners, had been more 
intimate with Lopouloff than his natural pride allowed others to 
be. They had long looked with interest on Prascovie's design, 
and disagreed with all their neighbours about the probable result 
of it. " We have seen things accomplished apparently far more 
impossible, against all hope," one of them remarked* " She is 
sure to find in her way protectors, who, if they once know her, 
will love her as dearly as we do, and will aid her with ail their 
might." 

At daybreak on the following morning these two men returned 
to take leave of her. They found everything ready for the long 
journey. When Lopouloff handed to his daughter the silver 
rouble, the kind visitors endeavoured to add to her slender means ; 
one offering for her acceptance thirty copper kopecks, and the 
other a silver piece of twenty kopecks, which was all they had to 
live upon for many days. Prascovie, though she refused their 
generous offer, was much affected by it. " If Providence," she 
told them, " bless my undertaking, and any favour be accorded 
to my parents, rest assured that you shall partake of its benefits." 
She had scarcely said this when the first rays of the sun entered 
the chamber in which they were seated. " The hour is come," 
she continued ; " we must now separate." She then seated her- 
self, as did her parents and the two friends — a custom always 
observed in Russia on such occasions.* 

Prascovie having received on her knees a benediction from her 
parents, tore herself courageously from them, and quitted the 
cottage which had been her home since infancy. Her two 
poor friends accompanied her for the first verst.-\ Her father 
and mother stood immoveable on the threshold, and following- 
her with their tear-filled eyes, motioned, when afar off, a last 
adieu; but Prascovie looked not behind, and soon disappeared 
in the distance. 

When her two friends had accompanied her as far as they 
durst, Prascovie fortunately fell in with a group of girls who 
were journeying- to a village through which she was obliged 
to pass. After an unimportant adventure, she passed the first 
night of her journey in the isla, or cabin, of one of her new 

* ^Vhen a Russian is about to commence a long journey, he invariably 
seats himself just before the tune for taking a last farewell. Whoever is 
present imitates him. After a short while spent in speaking of indifferent 
things, they all rise, and each embraces the traveller in turn before he de- 
parts. 

t The Russian verst is about five furlongs and a quarter, or a little 
more than five-eighths of a British mile. 
8 



THE HEROINE OF SIBERIA. 

companions. Tlie next day she continued her march. At the 
firet moment she felt a short tremor of fear at being" quite 
alone ; but the history of Hagar in the desert returned to her 
memory, and g-ave her courage. Having walked for some hours, 
she became perplexed as to the right road, and, with a degree of 
simplicity which was natural to her, asked some passengers the 
*Svay to St Petersburg?" Such a question from a person so 
many hundred miles from that capital caused a laugh at her 
expense. " Which, then," she rejoined, " is the way to Kiew ?"* 
This caused a second explosion of merriment, for the latter city 
is situated far out of the road to St Petersburg. " Whichever 
way you please, my dear," was the reply ; " it is all the same ; 
every roaa leads either to Kiew, to Paris, or to Rome." Chance, 
however, guided her correctly. 

Some stages before arriving at KamoiiichefF, a violent storm 
overtook her. Though she had travelled far that day, she re- 
doubled her speed ; but all to no purpose. A violent gust of wind 
threw a tree directly across her path, so as to prevent farther 
progress, and she found herself obliged to seek shelter in a neigh- 
bouring wood. Here, though suffering intensely from fatigue 
and cold, she remained till daylight ; then to seek a better shelter. 
Happily, a peasant happening to pass that way in a sort of car, 
took pity on her, and drove her to the next village. But 
there she was mistaken for a person of bad character ; for her 
clothes were muddy, and her features haggard, from long ex- 
posure to the recent storm. No one M^ould afford her shelter, and 
at length she went to the church : " At least," she said, " they 
will not drive me thence." The door, however, was closed, and 
she sat on the steps shivering with cold. A mob of children col- 
lected around her, denying repose by their insults and grimaces. 
After enduring this for two hours, Prascovie was accosted by a 
benevolent woman, who directed the attention of the starost 
(mayor of the village) to her situation. She told her tale, and he 
demanded to see her passport. This 'she produced. The starost 
])ronounced it to be correct, and the good lady invited her to 
her house. In attempting, however, to rise from the steps, she 
found her legs so swollen that she could not stand. At the 
sight of her sore and naked feet (for she had lost her shoes in the 
stonn), the insults of the crowd were changed to pity, and each 
vied with the other who should assist her. A vehicle was 
brought, and in it she was taken to the house of the lady who 
first accosted her, with whom she stayed several days. 

Havin»- been supplied with new shoes, Prascovie continued her 
journey, but more slowly than at first ; for winter w^s fast ap- 
proaching. She met with various kinds of treatment; but 

* This city stands on the right of the river Dnieper. In it is the 
cathedral of St Sophia, to which pilgrims of the Greek church largely 
resort to view the numerous relics it contams. 



THE HEROINE OF SIBERIA. 

managed to travel several hundred versts with only one remark- 
able adventure and that we shall relate. On arriving laS one^ 
evening at a village, she sought a lodging in vain! At last an 

he' "toM'hu^'' tT^.^ ^f "Pf ^' H '^'^^'^ -^ ^^ 
ner into His Hut. Ihere she found an aged woman. Both thesp 

S ' The'wf "P^T"? f countenaLe, which alaS the r 
guest. The woman closed the door securely and silently after 
Prascovie had seated herself. The cabin was lighted by burnin- 
sphnters of pme-wood thrust into a hole in the wall an J by theS 
lund light she noticed the eyes of both her hosts fixed upoVher 
After a time, they asked whither she was going. She told them • 
on which the man remarked that she must have plenty of mon^; 
t:t^rc;2l7V'''f^^^^^ so long a journey. IL de'S 

her ofw^l ^7 'P''l' ' ^"' '^'^ "^ ^ ^'''^ ^^^^«^^- accused 
her pt lying. However, she was pressed to go to rest, which she 

did mthe hreplace,* taking care to place her pocket and hei wal- 
let in such a position that her hosts might examine their content, 
so as to prove that she had spoken truly. Sure enough, w^en they 
knew she was asleep, they commenced their search^ but to their 

The old woman dimbed to where she lay; she awoke, and hh 
blood ran cold. She begged hard for her life; and again protested 
that she had no more money than she had kated.^ But^he old 
wretch without replying, searched her dress, and makint her 

lirl V ^'^A* f'^'^'I'S all was in vain, they left her moi? 
fw t^l^^'If • i\^^.^^^^ ^^ti^^« soon had its effect, and she 
slept so soundly, that it was high day before she awoke On 
descendmg to the floor of the hut, she was astonished at the 
change m the manner of her host and hostess : they were most 

insisted on her stopping to eat something. The o d woman 
instantly went to the fire, and filled froml huge rock a bT^n 
o stchz (son^ made with sour cabbage and salt meat), wlfilst the 
husband drew a great cup of kvas, or beer, made from rye malt 
Thus encouraged by their kindness, she partly answered theii- 
questions, and related her whole history 

tn^2^^ Pi-ascovie was taking leave, the old woman begged her 
to forget what had happened. "Think," she said, "it was a 
a^Tvn., n* P^^i^b^e^^ondition and goodness softened our hearts ; 
and you wiU find, when you next count your money, that we are 

had tlW/r/^'l "^ 'r\ \-/d-.-l7^ -1-n PraTcovS 
her purse, and found to her astonishment that they had added 
forty kopecks to her stock, instead of depriving ^herVany^ 
Ihus her artless manner and affecting errand won the hea^Is 



THE HEROINE OF SIBERIA. 

even of professed robbers ; which the wretched old couple, she 
afterwards learned, had the character of being". 

Winter had now begun, and Prascovie was frequently de- 
tained for more than a week at a time, in consequence of the 
depth of the snow. At leng-th she reached Ekatherinembourg", 
and was received in an inn, the hostess of which finding* 
she was without money, enumerated the names of such indi- 
viduals in the town as were well known for their benevolent 
characters, and who would in all probability assist her when 
they knew her story. Amongst others, a certain Madame 
Milin was mentioned as most eminent for her charities. Before, 
however, Prascovie commenced the smallest undertaking, she 
invariably went to church. On this occasion it happened to 
be Sunday, and she knelt down before the altar and prayed. 
In quitting" the church, a lady who had been remarking her 
fervent piety accosted her, desiring" to know who she was. 
Prascovie answered in a few words, and added, that she was on 
her way to seek the assistance of Madame Milin, of whom every 
one spoke so highly. " Perhaps," said the new friend, " the 
kind deeds of this lady have been much overrated ; come with 
me ; I may be able to provide for you better." Though the girl 
conceived a bad idea of the lady, from her dropping" a hint un- 
favourable to a person of whom she had heard so much g'ood, 
yet, without refusing to follow her, she did not assent in words 
to the proposition. "Well," continued the lady, "if you are 
so anxious to visit Madame Milin, this is her residence. Let 
us see how you will be received. If not well, perhaps you 
may be the more willing" to accept of my hospitality." They 
entered the house, and, addressing* a servant, inquired if the 
mistress was at home ? The domestic was astonished at this 
question. "Can I see Madame Milin?" inquired Prascovie. 
The servant, half bewildered, pointed to her new friend, ex- 
claiming, "Why, that is Madame Milin!" The kind lady 
laughed at the little trick she had played, and led Prascovie 
into the house, causing" every comfort and attention to be ad- 
ministered to her. 

The hardships of the rest of Prascovie's long journey were 
materially lessened by the kindness and influence of her benefac- 
tress. Besides keeping her in her house till the spring, she 
taught her to read and write ; for the poor girl had hitherto 
received no education, as her father^^ in his despair, saw no better 
destiny for her than passing her existence in Siberia amidst the 
lowest classes of society and in the performance of the most 
menial labours. 

When the time came for her departure, Madame Milin, after 
having provided her with everything she required, secured a 
place in a boat which was destined for Nijeni, and gave her in , 
charge of a merchant who was going to that place. Before 
passing the Oural Mountains, which divide Ekatherinembourg" 

11 



THE HEROINE OF SIBERIA. 

from Nijeni, the travellers were transported on the rivers which 
rise in the same mountains and run towards the north. They 
thus journeyed hy water till they came to the mountains, to 
cross which they disembarked. These not being- very hig-h in 
that district, nor difficult to pass, were soon left behind, and 
they once more embarked on the waters which fall into the 
Volga. Prascovie, not having sufficient means to travel by the 
land, profited by the numerous boats which convey iron and 
salt by the rivers Tchousova and Khama. At the mouth of the 
latter stream, near the Volga, an accident occurred by which 
she nearly lost her life. During one of the violent storms which 
are very frequent in these regions, the boatmen, desirous of 
keeping- their bark in the middle of the stream, pulled with 
g-reat torce an immense oar that served as a rudder, and im- 
mersed one side of the barge, on which many passengers were 
seated, before they had time to g-et out of the way. Three 
persons were thrown into the river, one of whom was Pras- 
covie. She, however, received no greater hurt than a severe 
cold, caught in consequence of not being able to change her 
clothes. 

Unfortunately, the merchant who accompanied Prascovie in 
the early part of her journey from Ekatherinembourg had 
fallen sick in the mountains, and when she arrived at Nijeni, 
she was without Mend or protector. This was the first large 
town which she had ever seen, and it presented to her an 
aspect more disheartening, and a misery more poignant, than 
she had felt before. She had braved the dangers of the storm 
and the desert, but she was not prepared to encounter the soli- 
tude of great towns, in which poverty finds itself alone amidst 
a crowd, and where, as if by some horrible enchantment, the 
poor behold on all sides eyes which pay no regard to them, and 
ears that are deaf to their complaints.* In short, Prascovie, 
during her whole journey, had never felt so discouraged as now. 
She sought her never-failing resource, the church, and, as in 
former cases, not in vain. A nun of a neighbouring" convent, 
filled with pity, conducted her to the abbess, who, receiving her 
with the utmost kindness, invited her to remain as long as she 
pleased. This was a fortunate offer, as a violent fever attacked 
her, which caused her to keep her bed. When convalescent, 
she went through all the religious offices of the convent, adher- 
ing to its rules with the strictest precision. Indeed in this life 
she found so much happiness, that she resolved, in the event of 
succeeding in her mission, to become a nun. 

* The city of Nijeni-Novgorod, vulgarly called Nijegorod (or Lower 
Novgorod), is the capital of the important Russian province of the same 
name. It contains a stationary population of 25,000 persons, besides a 
vast number of strangers constantly passing through ; for it is the grand 
entrepot of trade for the interior of the empire. The city is built on a 
steep hill 400 feet high. 
12 



THE HEROINE OF SIBERIA. 

Prascovie found it impossible to continue her journey till 
the winter set in, to render the sledg-e trains available. But 
when it arrived, she took leave of the kind abbess, (who gave 
her a letter of recommendation to a friend of hers. Made- 
moiselle de S.), and started for Moscow in a covered sledge. 
She arrived at that city safely, and proceeded at once to St 
Petersburg in the carriage of a merchant, a friend of Made- 
moiselle de S. Her journey to the capital was not marked by 
any very striking circumstance. She reached it about the 
middle of February, nearly eighteen months after her departure 
from Siberia. 

Prascovie lodged for a time at the house of the merchant with 
whom she travelled, as she experienced some difficulty in finding 
out the residences of two ladies to whom she had letters of intro- 
duction — one, the Princess de T , an aged and benevolent 

lady; and the other Madame de L . Unfortunately, they 

both resided at Wassili-Ostrow, on the other side of the Neva. 
This river was frozen over, but the ice was on the point of break- 
ing up; and from the dangers always dreaded from a rapid 
thaw, the police forbade any one to cross it. In this strait, she 
was advised by the merchant at whose house she stayed to get a 
lawyer to draw up a petition to the Senate, praying a revision 
of her father's sentence. This was done ; and Prascovie went to 
deliver it in person. She reached the Senate-house, and pene- 
trated to one of the offices, trembling all the while, through 
finding herself for the first time amongst such a crowd of 
men. She presented her petition to one of the secretaries, who, 
glancing at it coldly, and perceiving it was ill-worded and 
informal, returned it without speaking a word. Presently an 
old soldier, who acted as door-keeper, came up to her, and sup- 
posing she was a mendicant, took her by the arm and led her 
to the door. 

Still she was not to be daunted, and returned to the Senate- 
house day after day, placing herself on the stairs, in the hope 
that at length some good senator would take charge of her 
supplication. She repeated her visits for fifteen mornings with- 
out success, or without any attention being paid to her. Once, 
indeed, a government officer, who had remarked her persever- 
ance, took her petition from her. She felt a ray of hope. But, 
alas, instead of retaining the document, the officer took from 
his pocket a roll of bank notes, selected one for five roubles, and 
placing it within the paper, refolded, returned it, and instantly 
disappeared. This act of kindness, though it disappointed, 
affected Prascovie much. " Surely," she thought in her sim- 
plicity, "this gentleman must be some relation to Madame 
MiUn." 

Prascovie continued her daily attendance at the Senate, without 
success, till Easter, when it broke up for some weeks. But by 
this time the swing-bridges which cross the Neva, and which are 

13 



THE HEROINE OF SIBERIA. 

removed during the flooding season, were replaced, and the mer- 
chant's wife drove Prascovie in her droschy to Wassili-Ostrow, to 

deliver her letter of introduction to Madame de L . This lady 

received her with the utmost aifection ; for her story had been 
already narrated to her in a letter from Madame Milin. She had 
a relation connected with the court, to whom she oiFered to intro- 
duce Prascovie ; for although she was on ill terms with him at 
present, yet this was Easter, a season when all family quarrels 

were made up. Accordingly, Madame de L kept Prascovie 

to dinner, and soon several of the company, previously invited to 
the peace-making, arrived. "When the relation she had spoken 
of entered the room, he exclaimed, after the custom in such 
cases, Christos voscres (Christ is risen). He then embraced the 
hostess, who replied, Vdisterio voscres (In truth he has risen). 
By this ceremony the previous misunderstanding was efFectualJjr^**.- 
made up, and the influential relative received Prascovie — who; iv 
was now introduced to him — with all the more pleasure. During 

dinner, Madame de L detailed the whole of her story, and he 

promised to use his influence with the court to obtain a repeal of 
Lopouloff's sentence, as any steps taken through the Senate 
would occupy a vast deal of time. 

Meantime the Princess de T had been apprised, through 

Mademoiselle de S. of Moscow, of Prascovie's arrival in St Peters- 
burg, and sent for her to the merchant's house. On arriving at 
the princess's palace, our heroine was dazzled by the splendour of 
the apartments, and mistook the gaudily-dressed livery servants 
for some of the senators she had seen in her frequent attendance 
at the Senate-house. Her artless wonder and rustic simplicity 
won the heart of the princess, who, having assigned a fitting 
apartment to her, determined to use all the interest she possessed 
in procuring her father's pardon. Through the influence of the 
chancellor of the Empress-mother, that august personage conde- 
scended to see her. Prascovie's joy at this news almost de- 
prived her of her senses. On recovering, she offered up a sincere 
thanksgiving to Heaven. 

About six o'clock she was conducted to the imperial palace, 
dressed in her ordinary costume. While approaching it, she 
thought of her father's words, which represented the palace so 
difficult to enter. " If he could see me now," she said to her 
companion ; " if he knew before whom I am going to appear, how 
surprised and delighted he would be ! " 

AVithout the smallest ceremony, Prascovie was conducted into 
the presence of the Empress-mother. Her majesty received her 
with aff'ability, and interrogated her with interest respecting her 
history and her noble enterprise. She replied without timidity, 
but without boldness. She did not, she said, ask for mercy for 
her father, for he was innocent of the crime imputed to him ; 
all she demanded was a revision of his sentence. The Empress 
praised her courage and filial piety, of which she promised 

14 



i 



THE HEROINE OF SIBERIA. 

to acquaint the Emperor ; and finished the gratifying inter- 
view by ordering- 300 roubles to be paid her for her present 
necessities. 

Prascovie could scarcely believe that the events of the few last 
days were real, and on awakening the morning after her inter- 
view with the Empress-mother, to assure herself she had not 
dreamt what had actually happened, she opened one of her 
drawers, and was not convinced till she saw the money her im- 
perial benefactress had given her. Shortly afterwards, the 
dowager Empress not only assigned her an income for life, but 
presented her to the reigning emperor and his consort. All diffi- 
culties were now nearly vanquished. M. de K., then minister of 
the interior, to whom the emperor remitted Lopouloff's case for 
revision, was an excellent and benevolent man, who endeavoured 
^ -^tb lessen as much as possible the time which the necessary legal 
^j'^' "foi^ins took ere Lopouloff's recall could be decreed. In this in- 
terval Prascovie had become an object of interest to the whole 
court. She was taken to see all the remarkable places in St 
Petersburg, and invited to the houses of the highest amongst 
the nobility. 

While her father's case was thus prosperously entertained, 
she did not forget that of the two prisoners who had encou- 
raged and assisted her while others ridiculed her enterprise. 
Her court friends, however, advised her by no means to bestir 
herself in that matter until her father's affair was settled. That 
blessed event soon followed ; and the Emperor sent to inform her 
that he had transmitted a definitive ukase to Siberia for Lopou- 
loff's release, together with a sum of money sufficient to defray 
the expense of his journey to the interior of Russia. M. de K., 
who announced this delightful news, added, that his majesty 
requested to know if she had anything to ask personally for her- 
self. Without hesitation she solicited the pardon of her two 
^ friends. On learning this, the Emperor was so struck with her 
^. generosity in transferring his favours from herself to the two 
prisoners, that he instantly granted her request, and a few posts 
after that which bore the ukase for Lopouloff's release, a similar 
decree for his fellow-prisoners was despatched. 

Let us now for a moment remove the scene to Siberia. Lopou- 
ioff and his wife mourned the absence of their daughter as one 
lost to them perhaps for ever. So far from expecting she 
would succeed in her mission, they feared she would not survive 
her perilous undertaking. During her long absence, the only 
consolations they received were administered by the two pri- 
soners so often mentioned. They never failed to instil hope into 
the bereaved parents, while the rest of the villagers continued 
to add to their fears by their forebodings. At length the unex- 
pected ukase arrived. Neither Lopouloff nor his wife could for 
some time believe in the reality of their good fortune. As soon 
as Lopouloff's joy had subsided sufficiently to enable him to 

15 



THE HEROINE OF SIBERIA. 

"understand that he was free, he hastened to his two friends 
to impart the glad tidings to them. At first they received it 
with the most cordial delight ; but when, a moment after, they 
reflected on the contrast which their own hopeless condition 
presented, they gave way to a feeling of despair. Lopouloflf 
did all he could to cheer them, and offered a part of the sum 
sent by the Emperor for travelling expenses. This they refused. 
" We do not want it," was the reply of the elder prisoner ; 
" I have still the piece of money which your daughter refused 
at her departure." 

Preparations were soon made for the departure of Lopouloff* 
and his wife from the region of punishment to which they 
had been so many years condemned. Their first destination 
was the convent at Nijeni, where Prascovie had promised to 
meet them. On the night before their departure, they had 
taken an affecting farewell of their two fiiends, and had bid 
adieu to the rest of their neighbours, when Lopouloff" was roused 
from his bed by a state courier. On opening the packet delivered 
to him by that officer, he instantly perceived to his great joy that 
it contained the pardon of the unfortunates, whose release was 
the only thing wanted to complete his sum of happiness. He 
instantly repaired to their cabin, and having communicated his 
errand, was a joyful witness of their happiness. They fell on 
their knees, and after thanking the Almighty for their deliver- 
ance, prayed that every blessing might be showered upon the 
head of their benefactress, Prascovie. 

We now di'aw the history of the Siberian heroine to a conclu- 
sion, and we wish it were in our power, consistently with truth, 
to do so in that pleasing manner which has been adopted by 
Madame Cottin. Lopouloif and his wife met their daughter, as 
appointed, at the convent of Nijeni ; and after the first emotions 
of joy had subsided, she informed them that it was her resolution 
to show her thankfulness to God for her father's release, by be- 
coming a nun, and residing in the convent during the remainder 
of her existence. The happiness of the parents was much 
qualified by this unforeseen intelligence ; but seeing that their 
daughter's resolve was unalterably fixed, they gave an unwilling 
consent. They passed eight days tog-ether at the convent in an 
alternation of joy and sorrow. Amidst the solemn rites with 
which that ceremony is accompanied, Prascovie took the veil, 
devoting the rest of her days to religious retirement. The 
slender means which Lopouloff" possessed, prevented him from 
living at Nijeni; and his wife having relations at Wladimir, 
they repaired thither to end their days in the sweets of liberty. 
The final parting was indeed sorrowful. 

It was the fate of the gentle Prascovie not to live to an old 
age in the retirement she had chosen. She died on the 8th of 
December 1809, in a hermitage near the convent. 

16 




DOMESTIC FLOWER-CULTURE. 

^^ Y domestic flower-culture we mean the endeavour to 
.Mm gYQ-^y pare and ornamental varieties of flowering- and 



K 



other plants in every available situation connected 
with our dwellings. Be it window-recess, balcony, 
staircase, porch, or tiny front plot, it matters not, provided 
'there be less or more an exposure to light and sunshine. 
Some such place is at the disposal of almost every one 
who enjoj^s the shelter of a roof, whether he is an inha- 
bitant of the open country or the crowded city, the tenant of a 
single apartment, or the proprietor of a lordly mansion. The 
culture thus alluded to forms one of the most delightful recrea- 
tions in which the enlightened mind can engage ; it is innocent 
and cheerful ; can be cheaply obtained ; and, like other rational 
pastimes, may lead to pursuits of a more profitable nature. We 
intend, therefore, to glance at some of its advantages, and to 
show how any one may engage in it with success by attending to 
certain rules, and to a selection of plants suitable to the kind of 
situation at his command. 

ADVANTAGES. 

The beauty and variety of flowers, the fragrance and fresh- 
ness which we are insensibly led to associate with them, have 
long- been themes for the poet and naturalist ; but really not more 
so than the subject deserves. The endless forms in which plants 
appear, their adaptations to certain situations, the peculiar pro- 
perties which many species possess, though all grow on the same 
soil, the wonderful metamorphoses which they undergo from 
seed to plant, and from plant and flower to seed ag-ain, not to 
speak of the amenity and beauty with which they invest the 
landscape, or of the utility they confer as articles of food, 
medicine, and clothing, are all subjects of never-failing intei-est 
to a reflective mind. But every one has not the opportunity of 
enjoying this contemplation in the field; and even if he had, the 
produce of one climate differs so widely from that of another, 
that his own district would furnish him with a mere fraction of 
the numerous vegetable families. Knowledge, however, has so 
far overcome this difficulty ; for, by the aid of the sheltered 
garden, the conservatory, and hothouse, the genera of any 
countiy can be brought within the compass of a few superficial 
acres. What can be thus accomplished by the scientific gardener, 
may be imitated on a small scale by domestic culture, and with 
comparatively less expense, as our apartments yield that shelter 
and temperature which it costs the gardener so much to obtain. 

The individual, therefore, who can rear in his window-recess, 
in his lobby, or around his porch, the shrubs and flowers of his 
own and other lands, has always a subject for contemplation be- 
No. 37. 1 



DOMESTIC FLOWER-CULTURE. 

fore him ; something to engage the attention, and to preserve the 
mind from the listlessness of ennui, or from positively pernicious 
pursuits. Any member of a family who has a little stand of 
plants to water, to clean, and prune, has always a pleasant daily 
recreation before him; his love and care increase with these 
objects ; the simple duty becomes necessary to his existence ; and 
he has thus, what so many are miserable for the want of, namely, 
something to occupy hours of listlessness or leisure. Again, 
plants are objects of beauty and ornament, ^^^y is ponder lowly 
cottage more lovely and imdting than the large tai-mhouse on 
the other side of the river ? Simply because its walls are trellised 
with the rose and honeysuckle, and its porch with the clambering 
hop, whose dark-gi'een contrasts so finely with the whitewashed 
fi'ont ; while the latter is as cold and uninviting as bare stone- 
walls can make it. So it is with any apartment, however humble. 
The little stand of flowers in the window recess, with their green 
leaves and brilliant blossoms, add a charm and freshness to the 
place ; and we will answer for it, that wherever these are, the 
furniture, though mean, will be clean and neatly arranged. 

The labouring poor are often upbraided for the filthiness of 
their apartments, and for want of taste in the arrangements of 
their dwellings ; and it grieves us to acknowledge that the charge 
is in general but too well founded. There is too little self-respect 
among them — too general a disregard for that which is lovely 
and ornamental, as if these things were incompatible with their 
humble condition. To elevate the universal taste for that which 
is decent and orderly, will requu^e a wider dissemination of know- 
ledge than we now possess ; yet much might be done to estabUsh 
better habits, by encouragins: such pursuits as the rearing of 
objects of health and beauty^ within their dwellings. The in- 
dividual who prides himself on the favourite plants that blossom 
on his window-sill, will see that that window be in such order 
as shall show them off to advantage ; and the taste that leads to 
the estabhshment of cleanliness in one corner, will not be long in 
spreading to the most secret nook of the apartment. No one 
who knows how much a clean and comfortable dwelling leads to 
the formation of domestic habits, will undervalue this fact ; and 
the establishment of domestic habits among our labouring arti- 
sans would almost be equivalent to the establishment of virtue 
itself. But, independent of all this, the individual who cherishes 
his little array of flowers in his window, will often repair to the 
hills and river-sides in search of new favourites ; he will insen- 
sibly acquii'e a love for nature, and find his enjoyment in the 
Horticultm-al Society's show-room, or in the public experi- 
mental garden, instead of in the haunts of idleness and dissi- 
pation. - 
The in-door culture of plants is also intimately connected with 
the sanitary condition of our dwelhngs. The oxygen of the 
atmosphere is indispensable to the respiration of animals; it 



DOMESTIC FLOWER-CULTURE. 

purifies their blood, and affords them internal heat ; and, united 
with certain elements, is expired in the form of carbonic acid 
eras (a compound of oxyg-en and carbon). This gas, which is 
deleterious to animal life, constitutes the main nourishment of 
plants which absorb it, appropriate its carbon, and restore its 
oxygen to the atmosphere, again to be breathed in purity by 
men and animals. It is true that pure air is necessary alike to 
the life of plants and animals ; but the amount of oxygen ab- 
sorbed by the former is by no means equal to that which they 
restore, and thus through their agency the atmosphere is kept in 
healthy equilibrium. It is only during the day, and under the 
influence of hght, however, that carbonic acid is employed for 
the nutrition of plants ; that which they absorb during night 
is returned into the atmosphere with the water, which is con- 
tinually evaporating from the sm'face of the leaves. From this 
explanation it will be understood how the night air of an apart- 
ment containing flowers is said to be less healthy than the atmo- 
sphere which pervades it during the day ; though under ordinary 
states of ventilation, no danger need be apprehended from this 
source. " Besides their directly purifying influence, plants also 
tend indirectly to the health of dweUing apartments. For their 
sake the window that contains them will be oftener cleaned, the 
sash will be more frequently thrown open, and the air and sun- 
shine intended for them will also hghten and purify the interior 
of the apartment. 

REQUISITES. 

It may perhaps be objected that such a recreation requires 
more time than the working-man can bestow ; that it is too ex- 
pensive for his means ; and that it requires a greater knowledge 
of horticulture than he is likely to possess. To all these objec- 
tions we answer — No. If his little conservatory is once in a 
healthy condition, a very small amount of care will be suffi- 
cient to preserve it so. A few minutes before or after break- 
fast will keep a large array of plants in excellent order ; and the 
duty may be intrusted to any grown-up member of a family. 
^Ve know a surgeon in an extensive provincial practice — one 
of the most laborious of callings — and yet this gentleman has 

* From recent experiments on the respiration of plants, Mr Haseldine 
Pcpys has arrived at the following general conclusions : — 1. That vegeta- 
tion is alum/s operating to restore the surrounding atmospheric air to its 
natural condition, by the absorption of carbonic acid, and the disengage- 
ment of oxygenous gas ; that this action is promoted by the influence of 
light, but that it continues to be exerted, although more slowly, even in 
the dark. 2. That carbonic acid is never disengaged during the healthy 
condition of the leaf. 3. Tliat the fluid so abundantly exhaled by plants 
in their vegetation, is pure water, and contains no trace of carbo7iic acid. 
Should this be the -case, growing plants cannot, mider any condition, im- 
pair the purity of the atmosphere, but rather the reverse ; unless, to be 
sure, the odours which they emit be too powerful to be agreeable. 

3 



DOMESTIC FLOWER-CULTURE. 

managed, during* the last ten or twelve years, to conduct the 
most extensive conservatory of cactaceae and epiphytes in Scot- 
land, besides constructing* most of the shelving" and erection with 
his own hands. As to the expense, it is a mere trifle, unless the 
individual indulg'es in the purchase of new and pet varieties, as 
advertised by the nurseryman. Common flower-pots can be had 
from any pottery from one penny to sixpence each, and orna- 
mental ones for about a third more. The soil costs nothing ; 
and a very respectable show of geraniums, hydrangeas, monthly 
roses, verbenas, scented myi'tles, fuchsias, cactuses, aloes, and 
the like, may be had by exchanging slips with neighbouring 
cultivators, or originally from some gardener for a trifle. 

As to the amount of horticultural skill : it is not necessary 
that it be of a very learned description. It is true that particular 
plants require particular treatment as to moisture, exposure to 
sunlight, &c. — that some climb, others creep — some require sup- 
port, others float on water — some remain evergreen, others de- 
mand periods of dormancy or rest ; but all this can be learned 
of any gardener from whom the particular plant is obtained. 
Indeed, care and regularity are more required than botanical skill, 
as may be seen by the frequent displays of plants to be met with 
in the houses of individuals who never read a line of horticul- 
ture in their lives. Let any one look at the immense variety of 
plants grown in the windows of the more tasteful of our artisans 
and labourers, and then all his objections as to skill will vanish 
in an instant. We daily pass by windows in the suburbs of 
Edinburgh in which are crowded, often with less taste than is 
desirable, geraniums, hydrangeas, roses, verbenas, scented myr- 
tles, fuchsias, lilies of the Nile, &c. ; and no one will pretend to 
say that the culture of these is the result of anything but a due 
attention to the simple requisites of heat, light, and moisture. 
We were once tempted to solicit an inspection of about two 
score beautiful plants which we saw airing* in front of a little 
road-side cottage, and found that the whole of these had been 
reared and nurtured by an invalid daughter, who acquired her 
knowledg'e of the habits of her jDets from a young g*ardener who 
occasionally passed that way on his Saturdays' \dsits to his 
parents. Here was a triumph of attention and good taste — 
the perfection of a recreation but for which the life of this 
youthful invalid would have been miserable. 

GENERAL DIRECTIONS. 

Certain conditions of air, light, heat, and moisture, are indis- 
pensable to the growth and perfection of every plant. Besides these 
conditions, land plants require the aid of soil, from which they 
receive certain mineral or inorganic ingredients; but soil is not 
necessary to all vegetation, for sea-weeds and floating aquatics 
are independent of this element, and many plants will flourish and 
propagate even suspended in air. Air, light, heat, and moisture, 

4 



DOMESTIC FLOWER-CULTURE. 

may be therefore said to be essential conditions ; soil, non-essential. 
As it is, however, with land plants that the domestic cultivator 
has most to do, air, light, moisture, and soil, may be considered 
as alike necessary to his purpose. Atmospheric air is a com- 
pound of nitrog-en and oxygen gases, with a small admixture of 
carbonic acid and watery vapour ; moisture or water is composed 
of hydrogen and oxygen ; and of light and heat we only know 
by their eifects. From air and moisture plants derive the chief 
part, if not the whole, of their organic constituents, such as 
woody fibre, starch, sugar, gum, resin, and the like ; and from 
the soil they derive their inorganic constituents, which consist 
of minute portions of certain earths, alkalies, and metals — as 
silica, lime, magnesia, potash, soda, &c. all of which are known 
to exist in the soil. Every plant requires certain elements 
for its healthy growth, some kinds more of one element than 
another ; and unless these be supplied to it, it will languish and 
die. From these statements the intending cultivator will see 
that the atmosphere must have admission to his plants, and 
that certain kinds of these must be grown in peculiar admixtures 
of soil, whether sand, clay, peat earth, or loam. 

Moisture is equally necessary in quantities proportionate to 
the nature of the vegetable. Some species require an arid, others 
a damp atmosphere ; some will not flourish unless the soil in 
which they are planted be drenched, others may be watered only 
at distant intervals. These are matters to be learned by ex- 
perience, from books, or from professional men. The same may 
be said of light and warmth. A certain degree of light is neces- 
sary to perfect growth ; but some plants, as ferns, wood-sorrel, 
&c. naturally love shady and cavernous situations, and therefore 
require it less. The majority of flowering plants, however, 
delight in the open air and sunshine, assuming the most brilliant 
hues when exposed to these, and becoming blanched and sickly 
when excluded from their influence. Every person must have 
seen the white and slender stem of a potato grown in a darkened 
cellar, and must have also observed how the plants reared in a 
window naturally turn their leaves and branches to the light. 
Regular exposure and turning of plants to light are quite as 
necessary as air or moisture, if we would grow them healthy and 
of proper shapes. As to warmth, every vegetable has naturally 
its own climate ; we imitate mild and temperate regions by the 
greenhouse, and produce the heat of the tropics by the stove. 
In domestic apartments, it would be inconvenient and deleterious 
to produce beyond a certain amount of either heat or cold, shade 
or moisture ; and therefore we must either groAV such plants as 
are suitable to the ordinary state of our dwellings, or devise 
means of placing them in isolated compartments. 

Besides the above conditions, there is another of equal impor- 
tance, which is but too generally neglected. The great aim, if 
we may so speak, of every plant during the season of growth, 

6 



DOMESTIC FLOWER-CULTURE. 

seems to be the perfection of its seed. This accomplished, either 
death or a period of dormancy ensues. Annuals die after the 
first seeding- ; biennials propag-ate for two years ; and perennials 
for several years. It must be obvious that the first class having' 
accomplished the circle of their being, require no after treat- 
ment ; biennials and perennials do. Instead, therefore, of being* 
forced into perpetual growth by the application of heat and 
moisture, they ought to be treated so that they may enjoy the 
same period of rest that they do in a state of nature. It matters 
not whether they are deciduous or evergreen. There must be a 
season of repose, be it for a few weeks or for several months, 
otherwise their vegetative powers are weakened, and they will 
not present a perfect development of flower and seed. Judi- 
cious cultivators will therefore attend to this, by gradually with- 
drawing* heat, moistm'e, and other incentives to growth, at 
the proper season. Cactuses, for example, in their native plains 
of South America, luxuriate most during the rainy season, and 
become dormant with the period of drought. A similar seasonal 
recurrence should be imitated by the cultivator, if he wishes to 
preserve these wonderful succulents in healthy order. As with 
cactuses, so less or more with all other vegetables ; some require 
pruning" and partial cutting down of their stems ; some to be kept 
from heat and moisture ; and others, as bulbs and corms, to be 
placed in dry sand, or even to be unearthed altogether. It is 
from want of attention to these conditions that so many of our 
beautiful greenhouse and drawing-room favourites are constantly 
dying out ; nor is there any reason for the attempt to keep them 
in perpetual growth for the sake of ornament, since different 
plants flower at different seasons, and thus afford an agreeable 
and varied succession. 

In regulating the amount of heat, light, moisture, &c. attention 
must be paid to the peculiar conditions of the plant at certain 
periods of its growth. Thus, slips and transplants, while they 
are freely provided with heat and moisture, should not be too 
much exposed to light and sunshine. The evaporation which 
takes place from the leaves must not exceed the moisture which 
the root is capable of absorbing from the soil ; if it does so, the 
plant will speedily languish and die. It will be necessary, there- 
fore, to keep young transplants and slips partially in the shade, 
until they are thoroughly rooted, and begin to send forth leaf- 
buds, which are sure symptoms of their new vitality. Particular 
attention should also be paid to the manner of watering our 
domestic favourites. Though plants may occasionally be showered 
with the watering-pot, in general the best mode is to give them 
their supply by the flats and under-soil, and to take care that 
this be as regular and gradual as possible. Drenching them 
to-day, and forgetting them for the remainder of the week, is 
decidedly hurtful ; and watering the surface has a cooling effect 
upon the soil, at the same time that it is objectionable on the 

6 



DOMESTIC FLOWER-CULTURE. 

score of cleanliness. The gi'eat desideratum in the atmosphere of 
domestic apartments is moisture ; and this can he partially sup- 
plied by placing* shallow tin flats on the flower-stand, from which 
the water can evaporate among- the leaves and branches of the 
plants. In transferring plants which have become too larg-e for 
their original pots, it is generally necessary to remove part of the 
old matted root, to open it up, as it were, so that it may speedily 
obtain nutriment from the new supply of soil. Nothing" can be 
more stupid than to transfer a ball of fibres and exhausted soil 
to a new pot, under the idea of not injuring- the root. The 
absorbent portions of the fibres are their tips or spongioles ; and 
if these cannot be kept entire, a new and vigorous growth of 
them will be much sooner sent forth from a pruned root than 
from one clog-ged with old soil and decayed fibres. In filling- 
pots with soil, care should be taken not to press it too firmly, but 
merely to give it sufficient consolidation to retain moisture and 
steady the plant. It is also of the utmost importance, especially 
in large uprights, to place a layer of broken earthenware or sifted 
gravel next the bottom, with some turf or moss above, to facili- 
tate drainage, or, as old gardeners express it, " to keep the soil 
sweet." 

Another direction to be borne in mind is, never transfer a 
plant from one situation to another of a widely different cha- 
racter without some previous preparation. Vegetables no doubt 
possess wonderful powers of accommodation, but there is a limit 
to this principle ; and a plant nursed and reared in the hothouse 
will no more endure the exposure of an open pot, than the ani- 
mals of India could live and propagate in Iceland. Thus many 
of our rarest exotics are permanently injured by sudden removal 
from the stove to the open stand, or from the open air and con- 
servatory to the drawing-room. Plants intended for transferences 
of this kind should either be taken at the period of their repose, or 
immediately before their breaking out into blossom, if their flowers 
be the object in view. For example, is it wished to bring some 
showy orchidaceous plant from the stove to the drawing-room, 
it ought to be kept as dry as its actual wants will permit, some 
time previous to its flowering, and to be removed to its destina- 
tion as soon as the first flowers make their appearance. On the 
other hand, it should not be returned to its original destination 
till the flowers have withered, and even then not till the soil has 
become pretty dry. Such are a few directions applicable to 
vegetation in general ; we shall now point out the various modes 
in which in-door culture may be practised, and also enumerate 
under each head some of the plants most suitable to the peculiar 
situation. 

FRONT-PLOTS. 

The situations usually available for the domestic culture of 
plants are small front-plots in towns and suburbs ; walls and trel- 

1 



DOMESTIC FLOWER-CULTURE. 



Uses in front of suburban cottages ; balconies, porches, staircases, 
and other in-door space, where a flower-stand may be placed 
without interfering- with the commodious arrangement ot the 
furniture. To the first of these we need scarcely advert ; tor it 
the plot be of any size, and well exposed to light and sunshme, a 
nretty show of annuals and evergreen shrubs may be kept up at 
their proper seasons ; and most people in this case are guided m 
their choice of plants by their own pecuhar taste. However, ot 
annuals, the following hardy and /m?/-;mr^^. Ws may be men- 
toed as worthy of adoption :-£^«r% Z^.^.^s-Adonis-flower, 
candytuft, larkspui-, lupines, sunflower, lavatera, poppy, major 
cSvulus, nasturtium, Tangier pea, sweet pea winged pea 
Lobel's catcky, dwarf lychnis" Venus's lookmg-glass, Virgmian 
stock heart's-ease and pansies, snapdragon, migmonette, xeran- 
&m,puiTlejac^ Clarkias. Half-hardy kinds-Afvic^n 
maiWd, French marigold, China aster, marvel of Peru, chry- 
Snthemum, sweet sultan,' Indian pink, love apple, gourds, 
Tottle Ton7d, convolvulus, yellow balsam or touch-me-not, ama- 
ranthu! ten-week gilhflower, white ten-week stock, cannacorus, 
and cSnes^ hollyhock. Many of these are held lovely and fra- 
grant Wossoms, \nd some, such as the Virgiman stock, are 
admirably adapted for borders, as they keep up an exubeiant 
sC of Lwer from July till late in October. Among biennial 
^Unts suitable for ordinary flower-plots, are included Mow- 
ine- each having several varieties :— Canterbury bells, carnations, 
Flinch honeysuckle, globe thistle, hollyhocks, scabius, swee - 
wilUam, rose campion, wallflower, lavatera arborea, purple di- - 
Sis, Tnd stock gilliflowers. Some of these are very beautiful 
flowers, and none more so than carnations. 

If the plot be limited to a few square yards, it will be better 
no to attLpt the growth of flowers at all, but to lajj d^^ /; 
green sward^r clein gravel, with P^^^^^PV. J^l^^ff l^^J^^ 
Box-tree, laurel, flowering currant, sweet brier, rose, or some 
other hlrdy shrub, to eSliven it. Nothing, however, can be 
more wretched than a few sickly plants strugghng for a miser- 
Tle existence amid the dust and smoke of a to- ; and a pe o^ 
of o-ood taste wHl never attempt the growth of flowers unless he 
can command the requisite amount of air and sunshme. In 
layinnSlittle fi'ont-plots of this description, circular, ^oval 
obC'o., and other simple forms should be preferred ; for nothmp 
looks more ridiculous than the imitation of l-^^^tlis and m^^^ 
cate designs on so small a scale. A few plam form^ m keegmg 
with the front of the building and size of the plot, ^^J W^^^^ 
elep-ance: but intricate divisions, with hues of gravel ]>etween 
Scely broad enough for a human foot, are toyish and tnflmg 
in the extreme. Neat and simple edgings of box, daisy, Viigi 
San stock, privet, and the like, should be preferred to showv 
Serrwhich ar^ only adapted for large flower-gardens and 
oniamented lawns. 



DOMESTIC FLOWER-CULTURE. 



WALLS AND TRELLISES. 

When a front-plot is too small even for shrubs or turf, it is often 
possible to train some pretty climbers on the walls, and around 
the doors and windows. The soil for the g-rowth of these may 
be found either along- the wall beneath, or may be artificially 
collected, and kept in stone or wooden boxes. Where it is 
objectionable to fasten plants to the wall, a lig-ht trellis-work of 
wood or iron wire may be employed ; permanently fixed where 
the climbers are perennial, but moveable where they are grown 
merely for summer purposes. By being' removed in autumn, 
and kept dry, a wooden trellis, originally of small cost, will last 
for a long- number of years ; the while that its removal, along* 
with the withered branches of the plant, is a positive improve- 
ment to the appearance of the dwelling. Nettings of string or 
wire make very convenient leaders when other material cannot 
be had ; and these may be woven along- the outside of doors and 
windows, where other frameworks might not be permitted. In 
trellising-, the lines should be easy and g-raceful, in order to 
give scope to the free and rambling- habits of the climbers. 

Among- the hardy species adapted for this purpose, there are 
the honeysuckle, the ivy, many varieties of the rose, the jasmine, 
the small white clematis, the pyrus Japonica, lathyrus, chimou- 
anthus, cydonia, lonicera, or even the humble hop, where an 
easily -nurtured and quick-growing- climber is wanted. For 
summer purposes merely, a selection from the following- g-enera 
laay be made, descriptive particulars being- easily obtained in 
any catalogue : — Campanula pyramidalis ; cobsea, several species ; 
convolvulus speciosus ; lathyrus, several ; loasia lateritia ; lopho- 
spermum, several ; manettia cordifolia ; maurandya Barclayana ; 
pentstemon argutus ; rhodochiton volubile ; thunbergia, several ; 
tropoBolum, several ; passiflora coerulea ; Tweedia coerulea. Two 
plants appear in the above list, which, though they cannot be 
called climbers, make a handsome display when fastened to a 
trellis or a wall; these are campanula pyramidalis, and pent- 
stemon arg-utus. 

From what has been said under this 
head, the poor indweller of a single apart- 
ment must not suppose that the culture of 
out-door climbers is a thing- beyond his 
reach. If he has not a trellised wall or 

Sorch, he has at all events his little win- 
ow; and what could be more lively or 
graceful than to have twiners led around 
the framework, with a basket of mig- 
nionette perfuming the air on the sill be- 
neath ? Nor would this display of taste 



elegance 



cost him much ; a box, it 




and 

may be constructed by himself, a few handfuls of soil gathered 

9 



DOMESTIC FLOWER-CULTURE. 

from tlie wayside, and the merest trifle for seed, would be the 
sum total of the demand. 

It has been often remarked that, of all flowering* plants, 
climbers present the most graceful forms which can be contem- 
plated under the open sky ; but true as this may be, the tender 
varieties are not the less graceful when cultivated in the green- 
house or drawing-room. Grown in pots, and sustained by ap- 
propriate frameworks, they can be trained to almost any shape, 
be it urn, vase, obelisk, or pillar — a screen of living network, 
or a fairy arbour. Trellises affixed to the outside of pots can 
be had of a thousand designs ; and where purchase is objec- 
tionable, they may be constructed of wicker, slender painted 
rods, cord, or varnished copper wire, which is one of the 
most pliable and durable of materials. By the adoption of this 
plan, with frequent prunings in particular cases, climbers may. 
be made to clothe a trelUs not more than four feet high, and 
so requiring no larger space than a small shrub ; flowering 
more profusely when of three or four years' standing, than if 
they had been three times that age, and had covered a sixfold 
greater surface over an arbour or verandah. Indeed, climbers 
are not of difficult culture; for we have seen a cottager's 
window shaded within by a screenwork of leaves and blos- 
soms, more effectually than it could have been by the costliest 
Venetians. 

IN-DOOR APARTMENTS. 

Balconies, window-recesses, porches, and the like, are, how- 
ever, the most available situations for domestic culture. Here 
the plants have proper shelter and warmth, and are not choked 
by soot and dust; and if the requisites of light and sunshine 
be but sparingly granted, there are hundreds of plants which 
naturally love the shade, and can therefore be grown with suc- 
cess and pleasure. Presuming, however, that there is an ordi- 
nary amount of hght, aU of these available positions may be 
studded with open flower-pots, or with close glass-cases, as the 
means or fancy of the individual may decide. For in-door rowth, 
if the situation is lightsome and airy, almost any greenhouse 
plant may be reared in open pots ; but for those who want to 
keep up a succession throughout the year, the following may 
be mentioned : Spring — Snowdrops, llussian violets, early, tulips, 
crocus, narcissus, hyacinths, heart's-ease, mignionette, mimulus 
moschatus, ranunculus, anemone, myrtle. ^Smtti???^?'— Pelar- 
goniums, mignionette, ten-week stocks, China roses, double wa-ll- 
nowers, pinks, carnations, cactus, aloes ; annuals, as nemophila, 
schizanthus, collinsia, &c. ; myrtle, heliotrope. Autumn — Pelar- 
goniums, lobelias, campanulas, salvias, hydrangeas, verbenas, 
fuchsias, petunias, calceolarias, myrtles, heliotrope. Winter — 
Chrysanthemums, pelargoniums, heliotrope, myi'tles, fuchsias, 
aloes, cactus. We mention the above as suited for open pots, 

10 



DOMESTIC FLOWER-CULTURE. 

but there are many others of long* and well-established repute to 
be had from ordinary g-reenhouses, or even in slips from private 
cultivators. 

All that is necessary for successful in-door culture, is atten- 
tion to the general directions previously g-iven. If plants have 
sufficient air, lig"ht, wannth, and moisture, and be potted in 
proper soil, nothing else is needed, save a little care in keeping 
,them clean, occasionally stirring the upper portion of the soil, 
^irning* them regularly to the light, loping off old wood, pruning 
unseemly shoots, and removing decayed leaves. It may some- 
times happen, notwithstanding all ordinary care, that a few, such 
as the pelargoniums, may be infested with small green insects, 
or may otherwise take disease and languish. The former are 
generally destroyed by a sprinkling of powdered lime, the fumes 
of tobacco or sulphur, or even, where the nature of the plant will 
admit, by a thorough drenching with pure water. Disease is 
almost always the result of inattention, of too much or too little 
water, of confined pots, or of forcing into unnatural growth, and 
can only be remedied by recurring to proper treatment ; such as 
removal into larger pots, a supply of new soil, cutting asunder 
and replanting matted roots, or by giving small doses of active 
manures, as nitrate of soda, ammoniacal water, liquid guano, 
and the like. When slugs or other vermin infest the soil in 
which plants are grown, the above manures will in general 
kiU them ; if not, a drenching with lime-water — allowing it to 
pass off through the holes in the bottom of the pot or box — is 
sure to prove effectual, the same time that it is likely to add to 
the vigour of the plants. 

POTS AND STANDS. 

Since the main object of domestic floriculture is to improve 
the taste for what is lovely and ornamental, it should be the 
aim of all growers who can afford the outlay, to procure pots 
of as handsome shapes as possible. The common earthenware 
pot is often very clumsily made, though not of itself an inelegant 
object ; but others may be constructed with ornamental mould- 
ings in relief, or in the fonn of vases, urns, and the like, which 
would add greatly to the grace of a flower-stand. Pots may 
also be constructed of stone, of polished slate, as recently manu- 
factured by Mr Beck of London, of cast-iron, wood, and the like, 
and in highly elegant fashions, either to be set on plain shelving, 
ar on oniamental stands. Elegance, however, does not consist in 
exuberance of ornament; the plainer often the better; and correct 
taste will avoid all grotesque and fantastic shapes — such as repre- 
sentations of plants and animals in postures and situations in 
which thev are never to be found in nature. There is an endless 
variety o{ pots ; some intended to afford better di*ainage than 
the common sort; others by being double — that is, a pot within 
a pot, and the space between filled with water — to afibrd a more 

11 



DOMESTIC FLOWER-CULTURE. 



equable supply of moisture ; and many whose main object is 
display and ornament. ^Yhateve^ be their form, the amateur 
should remember, that gardeners do not speak of flower-pots as 
large, middling", small, or very small, but distinguish them by 
numbers, thus : — The smallest ones are called thimbles ; the 
next sixties, which are 3| inches deep, and 85 inches wide at top; 
forty-eights are 4^ inches deep, and 4^ inches wide at top; thirty- 
twos are 5^ inches deep, and b^ inches wide at top ; twenty-fours^ 
Qi\ inches deep, and 6^ inches wide at top ; sixteens are 8 inches 
deep, and 1\ inches wide at top ; twelves are 8j inches deep, and 
82 inches wide at top ; eights are 9 inches deep, and 9 inches wide 
at top ; sixes are 10 inches deep, and 10 inches wide at top ; fours^ 
11 inches deep, and 11 inches wide at top ; twos, 12 inches deep, 
and 12 inches wide at top — all inside measure. It must be re- 
membered, however, that these dimensions vary more or less in 
the formation of what are called ^flats and uprights ; the former 
are of greater diameter than dejith; the 
latter of greater depth than diameter; but 
all are made to contain nearly the same 
quantity of soil. 

Stands are commonly made of wood or cast- 
iron ; but we have also seen very cheap and 
pretty ones constructed of a wooden upright, 
with suspension arms of stout iron wire. 
Wooden ones with plain shelving of circular, 
or semicircular, or quadrantal forms, make 
very handsome stands for recesses and 
corners ; those on single uprights, with 
branches for the support of the pots, are 
usually constructed of iron wire, or of cast- 
iron bronzed or painted, and are best adapted 
for central situations in lobbies and drawing- 
rooms. It may not, however, be in the power 
of some to procure flower-stands of either 
description ; and for such, one board placed 
in the window-recess, so as to bring merely 
the top of the first row of pots within influ- 
ence of the light, and a second level with the 
top of the first pane, will make no inele- 
gant display ; the effect of which will be 
heightened by suspending some light pots of 
cactuses and the like from the lintel above. 

Of plants for suspension, a great variety can always be easily 
obtained, and as easily nurtured, as the majority of them need 
very little attention. Some require to be grown in pots, and 
watered ; but many will send down their gi'aceful pendants and 
blossoms for years with no other supply of moisture than what 
they absorb from the atmosphere. Indeed a number can be 
grown without the aid of soil ; a wet rag, a ball of moss, or of 
12 




DOMESTIC FLOWER-CULTURE. 

fresh tar, being the only protection their roots seem to demand. 
Pendant plants form very handsome appendages to a dwelling 
apartment, and no amateur should be without a variety to grace 
his collection. Of these may be mentioned, as worthy of adop- 
tion, saxifraga sarmentosa, linaria cymbalaria, fuchsias radicans 
and decumbens, Russelia juncea, lantana selloviana, the epiphyl- 
lous sorts of cacti, ferns, lycopodiums, &c. ; and with a little 
management the prostrate verbenas, lobelias, and mimuluses, the 
trailing mesembryanthemums, with campanula rupestris, fragilis, 
hirsuta, and a multitude of plants which resemble them in their 
habits. Even some annuals, flowered in earl^^ spring, as neom- 
phila atomaria and insignis, Nolana atriplicifolia, &c. create a 
good display when suspended in pots ; and many of the tender 
creepers before -mentioned may be trained pendant as well as 
erect. 



WARD'S CASES. 

It may happen, from the vitiation of the air in towns, and in 
dwelling apartments, or from other circumstances, that it is 
impossible to grow the plants we most wish in open pots. To 
remedy this, a plan was some years ago devised by Mr Ward, 
a surgeon in London, of keeping the plants under close glazed 
frames, in which situation they grow and flourish in per- 
fection. These frames are generally known by the name of 
"Ward's Cases, and may be seen in almost every large town, con- 
structed of every shape and size, according to the taste or means 
of the grower. By aid of these, any one, whether inhabit- 
ing the most humble or the most splendid dwelling, provided it 
be freely exposed to the sun's light, has it in his power to cul- 
tivate a miscellaneous collection of plants, at an expense so 
trifling as to be within the reach of the most moderate circum- 
stances. One of these cases, of 
a very complete structure, is 
represented, with its collection 
of plants, in the accompanying 
On the stand or table is 
box, lined with zinc 
or lead, and tilled with well- 
moistened loamy soil, underlaid 
by a thin subsoil of turfy loam, 
and this resting on a porous 
stratum of gravel, or broken 
earthenware. This composition 
is meant to represent a natural 
fertile soil, which it does to 
perfection, the water lodging 
among the gravel till the wants 
of the plant in the superior mould require it. Over this box is 
placed a close-fitting glass cover, which completes the apparatus. 

13 



figure. 



strong 




DOMESTIC FLOWER-CULTURE. 



The lig-liter and thinner the g-lass frame, and the finer the glass, 
the better are the plants exposed to view, and the more readily 
to receive the sun's light. This plot of soil, with its g-lazed 
framework of air above it, forms a little world of itself, in which 
the plants grow and flourish. When the moisture of the soil 
within is vaporised by the heat of the sun, it collects on the 
inside of the glass, and trickles down again, so that the plants 
are never subjected to irregular or capricious watering, while 
their own respiration and decomposition of water afford them 
nearly all the atmosphere they require. The case, however, is 
not absolutely air-tight ; if it preserves a certain regular amount 
of moisture, warmth, and air, the while it excludes dust, soot, 
smoke, and other noxious fumes, it does all that is required. It 
must be evident that a Ward's case may be of any size or shape. 
It may be made like a lantern or bell-glass, to cover a single 
plant, or large enough to become a domestic conservatory. In 
general, they are light and plainly made; but we think that 
those who have the means, should add to their practical utility 
the value of elegance and ornament, as shown in the following 
framework. 

Cases of the kind described may be used either for in-door or 
open culture; and answer as well for a little front-plot, or 
back-court, as for a 
di'awing-room. They 
can be also conveniently 
put up in balconies, or 
even over the entire 
window, so that the 
panes may serve for one 
side of the conservatory. 
Many such are now to 
be seen in our large 
towns, even in the 
smokiest and least in- 
viting quarters. This 
sort of double window, 
if we may so speak, is 
admirably adapted for 
tall plants and flowery shrubs, or for suspending pots, and is 
altogether a very pretty annexation to a dwelling. Lofty and 
partially close cases of this sort are fitted for almost every 
species of greenhouse plant; but the moistened and shaded 
atmosphere of a small and closely-fitted case is destructive to 
flowering exogens. Plants of a succulent nature, and espe- 
cially those having fleshy leaves, like the cactus and aloe, and 
all natives of damp and shady situations, grow and bloom in 
them to perfection. Among these are many lovely and rare 
plants, which will amply repay the attention of the case-grower, 
such as the melocactus, mammillaria, echinocactus, opuntia, 

14 




DOMESTIC FLOWER-CULTURE. 

epiphyllura, rhipsalis, and other varieties of cactaceous and 
epiphyllous g-enera; the aloe, cycas, ag-ave, cereus, side-saddle 
tiower, Venus' fly-trap, sun-dew, nepenthes, lycopodium, &c. all 
remarkable either for the beauty or peculiarity of their habits 
and structures. 

Rare exotics need not, however, be sought after. " The plants 
to furnish it," saj^s Mr Ward, " can be procured abundantly in 
the woods in the neighbourhood of London. Of these I will 
mention a few. The common ivy grows most beautifully, and 
can be trained over any part of the case, agreeably to the plea- 
sure of the owner. The primroses, in early spring, will abun- 
dantly repay the labour of fetching them, continuing for seven 
or eight weeks in succession to flower as sweetly as in their 
native woods. So likewise does the wood-sorrel, the anemone, 
the honeysuckle, and a host of other plants, independently of 
numerous species of mosses and of ferns. Some of these latter 
are more valuable than others, in consequence of the longer dura- 
tion of their fronds, such as JLastrcBa dilatata^ and its numerous 
varieties. There are likewise many cultivated plants procurable 
at little or no cost, which grow without the slightest trouble, 
such as the Lycopodium denticulatum^ the common musk-plant, 
myi'tles, jasmines, &c. All the vacant spaces in the case may be 
employed in raising small salads, radishes, &c. ; and I think 
that a man would be a bad manager who could not, in the 
course of a twelvemonth, pay for his case out of its proceeds. 
These remarks apply chiefly to situations where there is but little 
solar light. Where there is more sun, a greater number and 
variety of flowering plants will be found to thrive, such as 
several kinds of roses, passion-flowers, geraniums, &c. with 
numerous beautiful annuals, namely, Ipomcea coccinea, the 
species of Nemophila, Convolvulus, and a host of others: the 
vegetation, in fact, can be diversif ed in an endless degree, not 
only in proportion to the differing degrees of light and heat, but 
likewise by vaiying the quantity of moisture ; thus, with pre- 
cisely the same aspect, ferns and bog plants might be grown in 
one case, and aloes, cactuses, mesembryanthemums, and other 
succulent plants in another." 

It is apparent, then, from what we have stated, that every one, 
rich or poor, the tenant of one humble apartment, or the possessor 
of a splendid mansion, can equally indulge, according to his 
means, in the culture of what is lovely, fresh, and fragrant in 
the vegetable creation. If he cannot afford a Ward's case, he 
can obtain at least his wooden box, or pot of earthenware ; and 
if he cannot purchase what is rare and strange, he can have 
around him wnat is equally lovely and fragrant, as the common 
geraniums, hydrangeas, fuchsias, verbenas, musk-plants, lilies of 
the Nile, and a hundred others which will flourish luxuriantly in 
the humblest cabin. If his means will not afford ornamental pots 

15 



DOMESTIC FLOWER-CULTURE. 

and elegant stands, he can at least keep clean and orderly such as 
he has ; always remembering-, that the luxuriant and healthy plant 
will be an ornament of itself, though grown in an old teapot, while 
the most expensive vase will not compensate for a poor stunted 
and neglected vegetable. The love and taste for what is beautiful 
and g-raceful and healthful in nature, is the great object to be 
gained ; filth, disorderly habits, and dissipation, are inconsistent 
with that love ; and where it exists genuinely and strong, there 
also will be cherished the greater regard for external decency 
and order ; and these, in turn, will lead to more elevated thoughts, . 
and to tastes and habits far removed from all that is mean and>- 
sensual. There is perhaps no pursuit which leads the mind more 
directly to an appreciation of that wisdom and goodness which 
pervade Creation than the study of the vegetable kingdom, in 
which infinite variety, beauty and elegance, singularity of struc- 
ture, the nicest adaptations, and the most pre-eminent utility, 
meet us at every step, and compel us to observe and learn, even 
when often the least disposed to inquiry or reflection. But 
waving all these, the nurture of plants is an object for the 
amusement and recreation of the female and invalid; some- 
thing to engage the attention, something to cherish, and some- 
thing wherewith to decorate and perfume their dwellings, when 
the means are perhaps denied them of adding more expensive 
ornaments of taste and fashion. Take it even in the light of a 
mere recreation for an idle moment, it is at least an innocent and 
cheerful one ; one that never interferes wdth the comfort of a 
neighbour, or brings to the cultivator one tear of mortification 
or regret. 




1 




THE INSURRECTIONS IN LYONS. 




YONS has for ag'es been the prirtcipal seat of the silk 
manufacture in France, for which its situation is 
favourable. Placed on a level tract of ground, bounded 
by the Rhone on the east and the Saone on the west 
— the two rivers uniting at its southern extremity — it pos- 
sesses the means of ready water communication with the 
silk-producing" districts of the south of France and Italy, 
as well as with the country in the interior. In the course 
of time, the town has spread from its original peninsular situa- 
tion to the opposite banks of the two rivers. Beyond the Saone 
is the hill of Fourviers, covered to the top with a populous 
suburb. The not less extensive suburbs of Brotteaux and Guil- 
lotiere stretch from the east bank of the Rhone. On this side 
of the Rhone the land is level, being the verge of the great plain 
which spreads in this direction to the borders of Switzerland and 
Savoy. The northern extremity of the peninsula on which Lyons 
is built rises to a considerable eminence, and is clad with a 
densely-built suburb, called La Croix Rousse, presenting an 
imposing background to the city as seen from the south. The 
population of tne town and its suburbs is about 165,000. 

In the course of the revolution of 1793, Lyons suffered 
severely in consequence of having opposed the decrees of the 
National Convention. On being captured, after a bombardment 
with red-hot shot and shells, many of its public buildings were 
vengefully destroyed, and whole streets were left in ruins. 
Besides this destruction of property, 30,000 persons perished 
within the walls, but many more were afterwards put to deatli 
No. 30, 1 



THE INSURRECTIONS IN LYONS. 

by order of Coutlion, Collet d'Herbois, and other revolutionary 
leaders. Since this terrific period, Lyons has risen from its ashes, 
and is now one of the handsomest provincial towns in France- 
Built of stone, and with spacious quays fronting" the rivers, it 
is a city elegant in external appearance, while to the stranger 
walking- through its streets, the great height and massiveness 
of the houses make it not less striking. Its Hotel de Ville, 
or town-hall, is a fine old building, standing at one side of a 
square, called the Place des Terreaux, near the centre of the town. 
Its great public hospital, on the quay fronting the Rhone, is one 
of the largest buildings of the kind in Europe ; and its principal 
square, a large open area, called the Place Bellecour, is sur- 
rounded with edifices which can be compared only to some of 
the most handsome structures of Paris. The houses of Lyons 
resemble those of Paris and Edinburgh. Rising to a height of 
six or seven storeys, each floor is the distinct dwelling of one or 
more families ; the inhabitants reaching their respective places of 
residence by a spacious common stair, built of stone. In these 
floors the manufacture of silk is carried on. There are no fac- 
tories in Lyons ; no great collections of workmen in an edifice, 
as in the manufacturing towns of England. The business of 
manufacturing is conducted in private dwellings ; looms and 
other apparatus being usually disposed in one apartment, and the 
family of the weaver in another. The tall houses of the suburb 
La Croix Rousse are chiefly occupied in this manner by weavers 
and their families. 

- " ;; ■ THE SILK TRADE OP LYONS. 

'The silk manufacture was introduced from Italy into France 
in the fifteenth century ; and a century later, in the reign of 
Francis I., in consequence of the settlement of Italian weavei^ at 
Lyons, that city attained a distinction in the manufacture which 
it has ever since maintained. At first, the trade was conducted 
on a small scale ; and, in dread of losing that which they had 
attained, the silk manufacturers of Lyons earnestly petitioned the 
government to protect them by the exclusion of foreign goods. 
It being necessary to conciliate the Italian states, such proposi- 
tions were n6t listened to or carried into eflect, and the trade was 
left in a great measure free. Contrary to expectation, the refusal 
to grant the restrictions prayed for did not ruin the silk trade of 
Lyons. The competition aroused the efforts and 'emulation of 
the Lyonnese designers and weavers; they learned how to equal 
the Italians, and even to produce better silks than thos6 with 
which Genoa had been accustomed to supply Europe. They 
likewise acquired the art of fabricating velvets, plain, or figured 
with gold or silver ; and finally attained that perfection which 
gave celebrity to their city. 

During the eighteenth century, the manufacture of- silk be- 
came the largest trade in France, both as respects native con- 

2 



THE INSURRECTIONS IN LYONS. 

sumption and export. Increasing- during- the early part of the 
present century, it has latterly been in a somewhat critical con- 
dition, in consequence of the rivalry of Prussia, Italy, Switzer- 
land, and more especially Great Britain. In Northern Italy and 
Switzerland, the weavers are simple in their tastes and habits; they 
are accustomed to a humble style of living", and having- slender 
means of employment, they are contented with a lower rate of 
wao:es than would suffice for decent support in France or Eng-- 
land. In Great Britain, the ability to compete successfully in the 
silk trade arises from the possession of enormous capital, with 
the most improved and easily-acquired machinery. With these 
means at command, and with an active body of operatives, the 
Eng:lish have latterly been taking much of the French silk trade; 
and the more they take, the smaller is the share of foreig-n, 
orders left for the silk manufacturers and weavers of France. 

Competed against by the low wages of the Swiss, and the 
money and machinery, not to speak of the ready outlets of the 
English, the only reason why the Lyonnese have hitherto main- 
tained so successfully the struggle in which they are engaged, is 
the superiority of their designs. The designers are, indeed, the 
soul of the silk manufactory : their talent gives beauty to goods, 
the principal value of which lies in the pattern ; and to cultivate 
and encourage this talent, is considered a matter of the first im- 
portance. Schools of art are open to pupils for education in 
various branches of the fine arts, including instructions in mise 
en carte, or the communicating of designs on paper to the silk 
fabric. Besides attendance at these schools, the pupils have free 
access to picture galleries, museums of objects of taste, public 
libraries, and botanical gardens, where the finest flowers in com- 
bination may be studied. By these means, added to the inci- 
dental improvement of taste from the prevalence of ornament in 
churches and other public edifices, the richest and most beautiful 
patterns, with the most correct harmony of colours, are at the 
command of the silk manufacturers of Lyons. 

Placing the designers and the manufacturers at the head of 
the Lyonnese silk trade, the class which stands next in rank is that 
of the rAr/A* d^atcUcrs; that is, chiefs of work-rooms; but, for 
convenience, we may style them master weavers. These men 
receive the webs to be wrought from the manufacturers, under- 
taking to weave them at a certain rate, according to the patterns 
which are given them. Some of the stuffs are exceedingly 
complex in design, and require great mechanical skill in pre- 
paration. To arrange a web in a loom, will in some instances 
reqirii-e six weeks or two months. Besides being the arranger of 
the web, the master weaver is also sometimes its worker. He 
owns two or three, and occasionally as many as six or eight 
looms, some of which are worked by himself and his family, the 
rest by cvmpafjnuiis, or assistants, and by apprentices. Both on 
account of liis lending the loom and his an*angiug the fabric, the 

3 



THE INSURRECTIONS IN LYONS. 

rule we believe is, for tlie master weaver to receive half the 
wages paid by the manufacturer for the work. A master weaver 
may g-ain by his ov»m labour from two to three and a half francs 
(Is. 8d. to 2s. lid.) a-day, besides as much from the looms of 
his assistants : those who have children workins: for them realise 
considerably more. 

The assistants, who live v/ith the master weavers, and receive 
from them a share of their remuneration, are described as a 
floating- and very unequal j^opulation. When trade is brisk, the 
country in the neighbourhood of Lyons furnishes many of them ; 
and at one time a great number used to come from Italy and 
Savoy. The apprentices, who are youths between fifteen and 
twenty years of age, and work for their instructors, the master 
weavers, come next in the social scale ; and beneath them 
are the landers, or boys, whose humble duty it is to throw the 
shuttle in certain patterns, receiving a small wage for their 
labour. Neither apj^rentices nor lancers have received any edu- 
cation, and they grow up ignorant of everything but the narrow 
routine of professional labours. In their habits they are dis- 
orderly and troublesome, and on occasions of riot, they take a 
prominent part with the populace. A number of women and 
girls are likewise employed in the silk manufacture. They are 
chiefly occupied in weaving' plain goods at a moderate wage, the 
slightest rise of which would cause the manufacturers to give up 
this branch of their trade altogether. Some years ago, it was cal- 
culated that there were in Lyons and its subui^bs from 500 to 600 
fohricants, or manufacturers ; 8000 chefs (Vateliers, or master 
weavers ; 30,000 compagnons, or assistants ; and about 40,000 
others of all classes, supported directly or indirectly by the silk 
manufacture. 

Comparatively few of any of these classes raise themselves 
above the level in which circumstances have originally placed 
them, which is nearly equivalent to saying that they are not 
animated by any strong principle of ambition, or remarkable 
for economising their g'ains. Their houses are often mean and 
dirty ; and their mode of living is marked by some petty ex- 
travagances which rob them of their means. No small number 
spend Sunday and Monday in cabarets or public-houses in the 
environs, where they play at billiards and drink low-priced 
wines ; and thus lose both time and money, besides suffering a 
general deterioration of character. It is indeed surprising to find 
in this population so high a cultivation of professional ingenuity, 
while the cultivation of the powers of general reflection and the 
moral feelings appears to be almost wholly neglected. But the 
workmen of Lyons are an uneducated people, and saying that is 
perhaps saying all that is necessary to account for this phenomenon. 

A number of years ago, when they thought th6ir means of 
livelihood endang-ered by the introduction of the Jacquard loom, 
so admirably adapted for the weaving of flowered silks, they gained 

4 



THE INSURRECTIONS IN LYONS. 

an unenviable notoriety for the violence of their dispositions. On 
that occasion, the Lyonnese weavers broke out into open revolt, 
denouncing" the inventor as the enemy of the people — as a man 
who had been scheming the destruction of their trade, and the star- 
vation of themselves and families. Three plots were laid to assassi- 
nate him, and twice he had g*reat difficulty in escaping' with his 
life. So strong' was the tide of prejudice and indig-nation, that his 
machine was ordered to be openly destroyed by the public autho- 
rities — a concession on the part of the Lyonnese magistracy which 
covers them with disgrace. The Jacquard loom was accordingly 
broken in pieces in the great square of the city, amidst the shouts 
of the populace. The iron was sold for old iron, and the wood 
for firewood. It is pleasing* to know that the persecuted Jacquard 
did not lose courage. He waited in a secure place of hiding till 
better times, and these times came. The successful competition 
of the English and other foreigners, and the consequent decline 
of trade in France, led some intelligent manufacturers a few years 
after to bethink themselves of means for keeping their ground in 
distant markets. They found strength of mind to dare the popu- 
lar vengeance, and make another experiment. It succeeded. Silks 
of greater beauty were introduced at a lower cost. There was a 
dawn of prosperity w^hich gradually increased, till Lyons once 
more was able to take the lead in the trade of silk weaving. Of 
that machine which had been devoted to ignominy and destruc- 
tion, its inventor lived to see thousands introduced, and to hear 
every one acknowledge its introduction to have been a blessing. 
Rewarded by the state, and honoured by those who had once 
sought to take his life, Jacquard spent the conclusion of his days- 
in peace. He died only a few years ago at a villa in the neigh- 
bourhood of Lyons, to which he had for some time retired. 

Provided with this improved mechanism, and skilful in the 
combination of patterns, the silk weavers of Lyons have been 
able to maintain a rivalry in their peculiar branch of manufac- 
ture ; yet so nearly have they been equalled in the production of 
certain fabrics by the silk weavers of Spittalfields and Man- 
chester, that their employers, as has been said, have had no little 
difficulty in keeping their place in the market. For some years 
previous to 1830, a depression in the trade, by leading to a re- 
duction in the rate of remuneration, caused much discontent 
among the weavers of Lyons generally. They complained that 
they could no longer live with any degree of comfort on the 
waires allowed for weaving. This of course might be true, and 
probably was true, although the manufacturers were not to 
blame for iL The manufacturers protested that it was no fault 
of theirs. " Our trade," said they, " is languishing : if we pay 
more than we are doing as wages, we must charge higher for 
our goods ^ and if we charge higher for our goods, nobody will 
buy them. Prussia and Switzerland have taken part of our trade, 
and the English in particular, who are improving in taste, and 



THE INSURRECTIONS IN LYONS. 

loring'ilig' large capital to bear in tlieir manufactures, are becom- 
ing: formidable rivals. Better times may come about; but till 
such, is the case, we cannot pay more liberally except out of our 
own private resources, and with the certainty of ruin to our- 
selves." Neither the master nor the operative weavers would 
listen to this explanation. It might have been wise policy for 
both employers and employed, in this emergency, to have peti- 
tioned the government for a remission of certain protective duties 
which pressed on their trade ; but we do not learn that this was 
done, or so much as thought of by any party.* 

Revolutions and civil disturbances of all kinds unsettle trade. 
When there is any uproar in a country, people will not lay out 
money ; they become not only afraid to venture in any s'pecu- 
lation, but even refrain from buying many of the luxuries to 
which they have been accustomed. The French revolution of 
July 1830 threw thousands of workmen idle from causes of this 
nature. The silk trade of Lyons depending in a particular 
manner on the rich, was peculiarly liable to be injured by 
such transactions. The revolution aggravated the condition of 
the weavers, who had now scarcely any work at any price. More 
discontented than ever, they complained bitterly of the con- 
duct of the manufacturers, and demanded a fixed rate of wages ; 
that is, that the wages should be fixed by a tariff, or an un- 
varying scale of prices. The application of this principle to 
a trade so fluctuating as the silk manufacture, was manifestly 
absurd, for it implied that manufacturers should pay for work 
at a certain rate, v.^hatever their profits might be, and that the 
workmen themselves should seek no higher a rate, even if trade 
improved and more could be given. As an attack on the rights 
of industry, as well as of property, the proposition of the tariff 
was unjust, and could not by any arrangement be carried into 
effect ; nevertheless, to bring' their demand to a bearing, the 
weavers addressed themselves to the municipal administration, 
represented by deputies in the absence of the mayor, and to the 
prefect of the department, M. Dumolart. The prefect of a 
department in France occupies a situation resembling that of 
the sheriff of a county in Scotland ; he is usually a man of con- 
siderable ability. On the present occasion, the prefect showed 
himself incompetent to execute his trust. It is an admitted prin- 
ciple in social economy that no government, nor government 
officer, should interfere between buj'-ers and sellers, employers or 
employed, except to execute justice according- to established law, 

* All classes of manufacturers in France pay heavy import duties on 
English machinery and English iron, imposed with tlie view of protecting 
the native iron trade ; foreign timber is likewise burdened with heavy 
duties, in order to protect the native timber growers. By these means, 
machinery is not only high in price, but there is a disposition to continue 
working with antiquated machines after they ought to be superseded by 
■others of a new and more perfect construction. 
6 



THE INSURRECTIONS IN LYONS. 

and to preserve the public peace. The price at which an article 
is sold, and the rate to be paid for labour, are always best left 
to the determination of the parties immediately interested. M. 
Dumolart did not comprehend, at least he did not act on this 
principle ; he was induced to interfere in the dispute between the 
weavers on the one hand and the employers on the other. Per- 
haps his intentions were good ; but how often do g-ood intentions 
fail in their effect when not regulated by knowledge and pru- 
dence ? Under the countenance of this chief magistrate, meet- 
ings of manufacturers and workmen were convoked to discuss 
and fix the rate of wages, representatives from each party ap- 
peared, and angry debates ensued, without arriving at any deter- 
minate result. These meetings raised the expectations of the 
weavers, and led them to consider that, the principle of fixing 
a tariff being already conceded, all that remained was to deter- 
mine the rates. 

To explain in some measure the subsequent transactions, it is 
necessary to keep in mind the fervour which then reigned in 
the popular mind almost everywhere throughout Europe. The 
change of dynasty by popular violence at Paris, had taught the 
masses the efficacy of concentrating themselves in large num- 
bers for the accomplishment of any object they might entertain. 
Authorities, too, were timid in their efforts to control a force 
which it might next day be pronounced treason to have in any 
degree resisted. The manufacturers, also, do not appear to have 
been blameless in the struggle which had commenced. By M. 
Monfalcon, they are accused of having shown a singular degree 
of apathy, egotism, a blind jealousy of one another, and a want 
of prudence and foresight at the approach of danger.* While 
the weavers were united in a compact body, they stood iso- 
lated ; eveiy man, or at least every house, by itself. Influenced 
as much by the desire of doing business, while their brother 
manufacturers were reduced to inactivity by the strike, as by 
the wish to conciliate the workmen, several of them submitted 
to the violently-imposed tariff, and flattered the weavers with 
the idea, that their right and might were alike clear and irre- 
sistible. Thus fortified, it will not appear surprising that the 
united body of operatives should have manifested no disposition 
to relax in their demands. 

The last of the meetings to consider the subject of the tariff, 
took place on the 25th of October 1831, in the prefecture or 
official mansion of M. Dumolart. While the discussions were 
going on, an immense multitude of weavers, divided into bodies, 
advanced from the suburbs to the prefecture and the Place de 
Bellecour. They were without arms or weapons of any kind. 

* The materials for the present history are drawn from the account of 
the insurrections written by M. Monfalcou, a physician in Lyons, and pub- 
lished in that city in lo34. 

7 



THE INSURRECTIONS IN LYONS. 

and walked in silence, and in perfect order. The masters carried 
wands as a sig-n of their authority, and the crowd rallied round 
a tri-coloured flag". On this memorable occasion, the workmen 
were content with showing- their numbers. Many of them 
penetrated to the courtj'ard of the prefecture, and assembled 
under the windows of the chamber where the meeting* was being- 
held. One of the members came out and addressed them, say- 
ing, " My friends, we are occupied in your service — all g-oes well 
— retire ;"' and immediately the vast concourse withdrew in the 
same order as that in which they had advanced from the popu- 
lous suburb of La Croix Rousse. In two hours it was announced 
that the tariff was agreed on and arranged — news which were 
received with extravagant demonstrations of joy. But it re- 
mained to be proved if the manufacturers could carry it into 
execution or not. The greater number shrunk from coming 
under any obligation, and foresaw only ruin to their trade if 
the rates imposed were to be rigorously carried into effect. 
Scarcely, indeed, was the tariff established, when, as might 
have been expected, several houses suspended business, and thou- 
sands of looms ceased to be worked. This was an unexpected 
blow to the workmen ; and for the first three weeks of November 
they were loud in their demands for the execution of the tariff, 
and evinced the greatest animosity against the manufacturers. 
Meetings were held in the streets, in the public places, and 
throughout the suburbs. La Croix Rousse was already threaten- 
ing ; its population seemed raised as one man ; and, to the dis- 
cerning, a collision appeared inevitable. 

INSURRECTION OF 1831. 

The weavers of different classes formed a large body of, for the 
most part, young men, and, according to the military system of 
France, many of them had either been in the army or were at 
the present moment members of the national guard. Soldiering 
came thus ready to their hands. Early in November, bodies of 
them in La Croix Rousse and other suburbs commenced gathering 
together military stores. A large quantity of gunpowder was 
purchased, and cartouch boxes were made and distributed. 
Who or what they were to fight against was not at first clearly 
seen. Although proclaiming war against the manufacturers 
generall}', and animated by a deep grudge against several in 
particular, they do not appear to have intended to attack any 
of their dwellings or offices, or to massacre them if they fell 
into their hands. Their scheme of operations more resembled 
a war of terror to the whole city — an effort, apparently, to 
frighten society into terms. The prefect and other authorities 
were not ignorant of this conspiracy against the law ; but 
they accumulated blunder on blunder, and lost time by at- 
tempting the most absurd measures. Unfortunately, they could 
not reckon on much assistance from the national guard. At 
a 



THE INSURRECTIONS IN LYONS. 

a gi'and review of this body (equivalent to an armed militia, 
but of popular appointment) on Sunday the 20th of November, 
10,000 men were present ; and had these been decided in their 
wish to maintain order, no troubles could have happened. But 
it was easy to see by the threatening* countenances of all the 
companies from the suburbs, and the apathy of the others, that 
it was not a force likely to support the constituted authorities. 

On the morning" of next day, Monday, the first act of open 
rebellion was committed. At seven o'clock bodies of weavers de- 
serted their work-rooms, compelling the well-disposed artisans 
to join them, and in many places breaking the looms and de- 
stroying- other property. Other bodies employed themselves 
in raising barriers at the end of the principal streets which 
led to their quarters. Collecting in a mob of nearly 4000 men, 
they now raised a black flag, on which were inscribed the 
words, "We will live working, or die fighting." They had 
23ossessed themselves of two pieces of cannon belonging to the 
national guard, but without any means of firing them. Guns 
and stones were their chief weapons. In the tumultuary assem- 
blage, boys and women took an active part, the bringing and 
throwing of stones being their assigned duty. Besides placing 
themselves in battle array behind the barriers, a number planted 
themselves at windows and behind the chimney tops of the lofty 
houses, whence they could with comparative safety fire on any 
force brouo'ht ao:ainst them. 

At ten o'clock, the authorities ordered sixty of the military to 
attack the insurgents. They obeyed; but what could such a 
handful of men do against so large and fierce a body ? They 
were obliged to make a hasty retreat. Other equally ill-con- 
ducted' and feeble attempts were made, and of course met with a 
like fate. Elated with these first successes, the workmen believed 
the day their own. 

Finding matters becoming more serious, about noon M. Dumo- 
lart and General Ordonneau, the commander of the national 
guard, went in full regimentals, but without an escort, to La 
Croix Rousse. They thought, by addressing the insurgents, to 
conciliate them. Vain thought. Directly these functionaries 
threw themselves into the power of the populace, they were sur- 
rounded, threatened, and finally made prisoners. The peaceable 
inhabitants of Lyons heard of the consequences of this imjjru- 
dence with horror. Soldiers were stationed in the streets, and 
patroles on the quajrs and squares, to watch over the workmen 
in the central part of the town. The drummers called the national 
ffuard to arms, and about 1200 men answered the summons. 
General Roquet, though unable to mount his horse, was carried 
to the town-hall, and gave orders to surround the insurgents in 
La Croix Rousse. The troops advanced by different roads, and 
were protected by artillery; but they had to climb under the 
fire of the weavers, who ha*d taken up their post in the houses of 

2 9 



THE INSURRECTIONS IN LYONS. 

a steep hill, which afforded them a most advantageous position. 
Here M. Schirmir was killed, and many other citizens who 
had taken arms in defence of the laws met their deaths, as also 
several officers ; and numbers were dangerously wounded. The 
Place des Bernadines remained in the hands of the national 
guard ; but at night they received orders to quit it. The in- 
surgents kindled fires at La Croix Rousse, round which they 
bivouacked. Here they might easily have been overwhelmed ; 
but both parties seemed willing to wait for the events of the 
morrow. The prefect and General Ordonneau were still prisoners, 
their captors condemning them to pass the night in a room 
where lay the dead bodies of two of the workmen who had 
fallen by the muskets of the soldiers. 

During the night a proclamation was printed on the part of 
General Roquet, calling on the guard to be firm in the perform- 
ance of their duty, and setting forth the truth, that the dis- 
turbances of the city, fomented by its enemies, would be the 
ruin of its trade unless speedily quelled. But the officers were 
cruelly disappointed in their followers ; their orders were met by 
insults and threats, and desertion became general. Many of 
those whose opinions inclined them to the side of the laws and 
of order, yielded from fear; while others openly joined the 
insurgents. A few of the national guards bravely joined the 
troops of the line stationed at the foot of the Great Hill, to de- 
fend that important post. But the spirit of insurrection was 
growing wilder and wilder;, the proclamation was plucked down 
and trampled under foot ; the drums which called the soldiers to 
arms were forcibly seized ; stragglers were maltreated and as- 
sassinated; and public buildings were fired. The sound of 
musketry was heard from a hundred different quarters ; women 
and children gained possession of the barracks of Bon-Pasteur ; 
and whole detachments laid down their arms. A murderous fire 
was poured down from the Chartreux ; paving stones were torn 
up for barricades ; wagons of the troops were seized ; and the 
bell of St Paul was sounded. Planks were heaped up to de- 
fend the quays, and three armourers' shops were forced. Before 
ten o'clock on this Tuesday morning the insurrection had assumed 
a most alarming appearance. 

Intoxicated with their success, the weavers became more and 
more brutal ; the fallen and wounded were strangled even by 
women ; and all the horrors consequent on fierce unbridled pas- 
sions were enacted. General Ordonneau and M. Dumolart w-ere 
released in the morning ; for the prefect having sanctioned, the 
tariff, there was no pretext for injuring him. At noon, he for- 
warded to the guard stationed at the Great Hill a manuscript 
proclamation addressed to the weavers, and begging them to 
stay the effusion of blood. But who would be the messenger 
among them ? One of the national guard offered to take it, and 
he was escorted by a few of his comrades and four soldiers. This 

10 



THE INSURRECTIONS IN LYONS. 

inoiFensive party was stopped at the barricade, and ordered to 
turn back. The messeng-er, accompanied by a lieutenant, at- 
tempted to pass on, when he was knocked down, trampled upon, 
and threatened with death. His life was saved by a workman 
who chanced to know him. 

Beat back at every point, the garrison and a few of the na- 
tional g-uard who had reinforced it withdrew to the Place des 
Terreaux and the town-hall, where many of the authorities had 
assembled. The city was now seen to be in a most perilous state, 
for the arsenal of Ainai had fallen into the hands of the weavers, 
and they held the suburbs and the principal streets. The only 
g:reat point still in the possession of the authorities was the 
powder magrazine. Here the strug-g-le was maintained during' the 
day with uncompromising bitterness, the advantage still being 
on the side of the weavers, who fired from behind barricades. 
Dispirited by want of food, and the deadly lire of their opponents, 
the military, at seven o'clock in the evening, relinquished the 
defence of the magazine, after throwing the greater part of the 
powder into the Saone, and spiking two pieces of cannon. 

At two o'clock on the morning of Wednesday the 23d, General 
Roquet yielded to the opinions of the civil authorities, and re- 
solved to quit the city with the troops that he commanded. But 
the insurgents endeavoured to prevent this retreat, and not 
without great loss of life was it accomplished. Now again 
were enormities committed ; the wounded soldiers were stabbed 
by women who went about with knives, and their bodies were 
thrown into the river. While these and other excesses were in 
the course of being committed, proclamations were issued calling 
on the insurgents to cease. Two bore the sig-nature of M. Dumo- 
lart, and one that of a journalist, who, having for weeks fo- 
mented the spirit of rebellion among the people, now thought 
himself called upon, though he had instigated and sanctioned 
their doings, to calm, if he could, the fury which was raging. It 
does not seem that these remonstrances were of any avail ; but as 
the military had departed, the weavers had no longer any one 
to fight against, and therefore gradually returned to a state of 
comparative quiet. 

For eight days the city remained in the possession of the 
insurgents, and during this time it exhibited a melancholy and 
distracted appearance. The markets were abandoned, the prin- 
cipal shops closed, fragments of barricades and other wreck lay 
scattered about the streets, stains of blood met the eye in diffe- 
rent quarters, many persons were seen wounded, the hospitals 
were crowded with sufferers ; and, to complete the horrors of the 
scene, bands of thieves roamed over the city, breaking into 
houses and plundenng whatever fell within their reach. Ashamed 
of these uncalled-for auxiliaries, and alarmed at the anarchy which 
seemed inevitable, some of the insurgents offered their assistance 
to the authorities in procuring a return to regular administration. 

II 



THE INSURRECTIONS IN LYONS. 

This was not needed. The government at Paris, becoming" ac- 
quainted with the insurrection, despatched troops to Lyons, 
headed by Marshal Soult and the Duke of Orleans, who arrived 
on the 29th. On the 1st of December the suburbs were occupied 
with troops of the line, and at noon on Saturday the 3d the 
prince entered the city. His royal highness appeared as a 
colonel of hussars, and was attended by a brilliant staff. Several 
regiments of the line, a great number of the national guard, and 
a body of gens-d'armes, made iip the imposing spectacle. Other 
troops guarded the suburbs ; so that in reality Lyons was sur- 
rounded by a large army. An immense multitude had assembled 
on the quays to watch the arrival of the prince, by whom he was 
received with loud acclamations. His presence, in fact, announced 
the return of good order. There was no attempt at resistance ; 
the weavers everywhere yielded to a superior force, and retired 
to their homes. On the same day the national guard of Lyons 
was formally reorganised — a proceeding which was the first 
means of legally disarming the suburbs. 

Thus ended the insurrection of November 1831, in which 
from twenty-five to thirty thousand weavers had taken an active 
part, besides many thousands of women and children. The 
slaughter could never be exactly estimated, for numerous bodies 
were thrown into the Rhone and Saone, whose impetuous waters 
swept them out of sight. On both sides, however, it amounted 
to several hundreds, exclusive of deaths afterwards from wounds. 

EFFECTS OF THE INSURRECTION. 

It was much easier to restore tranquillity in the bosom of this 
distracted city, than to bring back trade to its wonted channels. 
The convulsion, instead of benefiting the condition of the opera- 
tive class, had rendered it greatly worse ; the tariff, so far from 
being' established, was farther off than ever. It was with mixed 
feelings of shame and distress that the silk weavers entered their 
now disconsolate dwellings, where the looms and other engines 
of their profession were destroyed, and whence the means of 
existence seemed for ever to have vanished. Urged by neces- 
sity, they set about restoring things to order, and, abashed, 
sought the warehouses of the manufacturers for employment. 
Their tone was quite changed ; they preferred their requests 
with civility ; and each, if he might be believed, had taken no 
part in the insurrection. 

A number of the manufacturers had left the city, not being 
inclined to peril their capital in a civil war; and those who 
remained had little work to give. Some time elapsed before the. 
business could be resumed on a general scale, and in this inter- 
val there was not a little suffering. The notion of. a fixed 
rate of wages being abandoned as untenable, a new plan was 
tried with full consent of both masters and men. Tiiii con- 
sisted in resorting to a tribunal, established to settle commercial 

12 



THE INSURRECTIONS IN LYONS. 

differences, and called Le Conseil des Prud/hommes (The Council 
of Honest Men). It was composed of an equal number of manu- 
facturers and delegated workmen, the workmen receiving- a small 
payment for loss of time, but the manufacturers acting gra- 
tuitously. This mixed tribunal commenced to attempt a regu- 
lation of wages and other matters in dispute ; but all its efforts 
were abortive. The workmen delegates would listen to no argu- 
ment of the other class of members ; and a mob being admitted 
to the sittings, every manufacturer who expressed an opinion 
opposite to the popular fancy was hooted and abused. When 
the prefect attempted to preserve order, the operatives dissolved 
the meetings, and returned to their old project of demanding the 
tariff, and struggling for it by means of coalitions and a suspen- 
sion of work.* 

Popular feeling was in the meanwhile kept in a state of agita- 
tion by certain lawsuits, and also the trials of several insurgents, 
who had been taken prisoners during the tumult of November. 
The suits were raised by private parties against the city autho- 
rities, for the damage and loss they had sustained in their pro- 
perty during the convulsion. A strong effort was made to make 
out a case of non-responsibility ; but Unally the courts decreed 
in favour of the claimants, and a heavy tax was imposed on all 
householders to meet the emergency. Insurrections cost very 
dear, for some one must pay for the loss sustained by lire and 
pillage. It would be tedious to relate the trials of the insur- 
gents ; it is sufficient to say that all were acquitted, although 
they had been taken fighting with arms in their hands against 
the law. The general feeling, that too much blood had already 
been shed, was, it is said, the cause of this unforeseen result. 
We can admit that capital punishment might have been cruel 
and inexpedient ; but that proved murderers and insurgents, as 
some of the prisoners were, should have been let loose on society, 
was a circumstance reflecting little credit on the French tribunals. 

The release of the prisoners was attributed by the populace, 
not to a merciful disposition on the part of the juries, but to fear; 
and this, united with the recollection of their having been victo- 
rious in combat, did much to foster a spirit of insubordination. 
If left to themselves, it is believed that the workmen of Lyons 
would in time have given up all thoughts of any new outbreak. 
They were not habitually inclined to political agitation or to in- 
surrection. It was their misfortune, however, to be generally 
ignorant; comparatively few among them had any just per- 
ception of their social obligations, and therefore they were the 
more exposed to adopt erroneous views. The reputation of 
their conquest having gone abroad over France, the attention 

* The Conseil des Pnid'hommes still remains an institution in Lyons. 
In quiet times, and with a disposition to act impartially, it is of con- 
siderablo^usc in unexpensively settling disputes in a manufactiuing popu- 
lation. 

13 



THE INSURRECTIONS IN LYONS. 

of all the wild speculators in polities, religion, and morals, 
whom Paris and other cities contained, was drawn towards 
them ; and preachers and lecturers of all denominations flocked 
to Lyons as a new and favourable centre of agitation. It is 
most distressing to reflect, that there are never wanting men 
to make a regular trade of sowing dissension between one 
class of the community and another. By the lecturing and 
ranting demagogues who had come to their unfortunate city, 
the weavers were stimulated to cherish their old animosities, 
and all their prejudices were studiously cultivated. In addi- 
tion, they were taught that society was entirely in a wrong 
condition, that the division into ranks or classes, — employer 
and employed — was contrary to nature, and should be reme- 
died. The proposed remedy was to overturn the existing" order 
of thing's, and institute a repubHc. How the business of silk 
weaving was to be any way improved by carrying out these 
visionary doctrines and projects, was not explained. " Let us 
have but a republic," said these wandering orators, " and all that 
you complain of will be set to rights." Is it not marvellous how a 
larg'e body of men whose living absolutely depended on the manu- 
facture of an article of luxury expressly suited to the existing state 
of society, should have listened with gravity to such absurdities ? 
To improve on this good beginning, the Propagandists of the 
Rights of Man, as a number of these strolling gentlemen called 
themselves, commenced teaching the weavers how to oro:anise 
themselves into unions, with presidents, secretaries, councils, 
laws, and by-laws — a thing never rightly understood before in 
Lyons. Although diligently preaching in the abstract that all 
men are equal, and that, in the new world which was about to 
commence, there was to be no social distinction between those who 
had something and those who had nothing-, the propagandists set 
about arranging the weavers into two classes, distinguished from 
each other by a qualification depending on amount of property. 
All those who owned looms, termed Mutuellists, formed one 
union ; and all those who did not possess looms of their own, 
termed Ferandiniers, composed another union. The Mutuellists 
were divided into one hundred and twenty-two lodges of twenty 
members each, and with a president in each. From the united 
body of . presidents w-ere formed twelve central lodges, each of 
which named three members to form an executive commission; 
which thus consisted of thirty-six members. This commission 
ag'ain resolved itself into a permanent directory of three members ; 
and this directory was in point of fact a despotism which governed 
the whole fabric. One important feature remains to be mentioned. 
There was a taxation for the support of the commonwealth. Each 
member of the union paid live francs as entry money, and one 
franc per month regularly afterwards. The Ferandiniers were 
similarly organised ; and their union was also supported by money 
levies. With a stock of 100,000 francs (£4000) to start with, and 
14 



THE INSURRECTIONS IN LYONS. 

an income of 2000 francs (£80) monthly, the Mutuellists ex- 
pected to effect great things, not only in the way of supporting 
members out of work, but in acting aggressively on the enemy, 
that is, the manufacturers. In the former of these expectations 
there was not a little disappointment. A large share of the funds 
was absorbed in what were described by the directory as neces- 
sary expenses ; and a still larger portion was required to keep up 
a newspaper, purposely started to advocate the weavers' rights 
and revolutionary opinions. This journal, which was called the 
Echo da la Fahriquc, was in due time rivalled by a paper equally 
unscrupulous in misleading the operatives as to their true posi- 
tion and interests, termed the Echo des Travaillcurs (the La- 
bourers' Echo). Thus, by means of orators, propagandists, jour- 
nalists, and the more designing and aspiring of their own class, 
the great body of silk weavers were robbed of their earnings, 
and trained to the commission of violence. 

It was part of the policy of the discontented to incite the work- 
men from time to time to petty outbreaks, which should keep up 
the po])ular feeling, as well as show it. Thus, from the middle 
of 183'2, not a month was allowed to pass without some demon- 
stration of this kind. Nois}'' meetings were held in August, 
where seditious songs were sung, and menaces against the manu- 
facturers loudly uttered. In the month of December, a man 
named Monnier was surprised by the police at Caluise preach- 
ing the most violent republican doctrines to an assemblage of 
nearly two hundred individuals. Other events contributed to 
show that associations subversive of order were organising, and 
hurrying on the unfortunate workmen to their fate. " You are 
the stronu-est," the republican propagandists were often heard to 
say ; " why should you submit to o])pression ? November taught 
you to overcome garrisons; and what yon then did you can do 
again." Such words were scattered like firebrands in the work- 
rooms. 

Towards the close of 183-2 the spirit of rebellion daily grew 
stronger, and it increased in energy and purpose in the early 
part of 1833. There were continually tumults in the streets, and 
bands of disorderly persons might be seen roaming about, some 
singing, others hooting and j'elling, and all seizing opportunities 
of assaulting the police and defying the authorities. Among 
other strolling vagrants who had come to Lyons with purposes of 
mischief, there was a number of miserable troubadours, or street- 
singers, who drove a profitable trade in singing republican hymns 
in the cafes to groups of the disaffected. Any attempt to stop the 
seditious bawling of these vagrants was the siarnal for a row. 

Graver doings went on in the regular evemng assemblages of 
the malcontents ; and yet there was something ludicrous in these 
meetings. Instead of coolly and tranquilly discussing plans, each 
member speaking in tui-n, a number spoke at once, or kept up 
a series of vociferations subversive of all order and deliuera- 

15 



THE INSURRECTIONS IN LYONS. 

tion. Throughout the proceedings, there burst from the members 
cries of, " Long live the republic ! Down with the manufac- 
turers ! Down with Louis-Philippe ! Down with the aristo- 
crats ! Down with the rich ! Success to the guillotine ! " Excited 
by such exclamations, the meetings usually broke up in a kind 
of frenzy, leaving the members ready for the commission of 
any outrage. One day, a dragoon crossing the Place des Celes- 
tins, was saluted with the cry of, " To the water— to the Rhone 
with him ! " Some of the mob attacked him, and threatened 
some infantry who were near. An individual who was not a 
member harangued the multitude, and repeated several times, 
^*^ We do not wish an uproar ; we wish a revolution." 

The military always dispersed these tumultuous assemblages ; 
and the peace, though greatly disturbed, was not positively 
broken. A new and more vigorous prefect, M. Gasparin, had 
been appointed in place of M. Dumolart, and the government 
had surrounded Lyons with several forts and barracks, filled 
with troops, on whom dependence could be placed. Little re- 
liance, however, could yet be reposed in the national guard, of 
which, when reorganised after the events of November, only . 
about a fifth had answered to their nomination. 

It is a law in France, that no public meeting can take place 
without the sanction of the prefect, or of the mayor of the dis- 
trict in which it is to be held. Whether right or -wa'ong, such 
is the law, and of course it ought to be obeyed till constitu- 
tionally altered. The rebellious spirits of Lyons, holding this 
and all other laws in contempt, in the month of April 1833, 
resolved on giving a public banquet to Garnier-Pages, a person 
who had distinguished himself by the fierceness of his repub- 
lican principles. In a sense he might be called the evil genius 
of Lyons, the grand agitator, the man who swaj'-ed the wild 
democracy almost at his will. The declaration of 6000 riepub- 
licans to give a public entertainment to this personage, was 
almost equivalent to an open defiance of government, and M. 
Gasparin forbade its taking place. This conduct of the prefect 
was perfectly legal; but by the journals which advocated anarchy,' 
it was treated as an abuse of authority, which the citizens had a 
right to resist by force. It was according-ly resolved that the 
banquet should take place in an open ground in the environs on 
the 5th of May, in defiance of the prefect. The following ad- 
dress, bearing the superscription, "Liberty, equality, brother- 
hood, or death,'-' was circulated among' the people, and inserted 
in the Lyons Courrier : — 

" A decree of the prefect of the Rhone, made public yesterday, 
inforais the inhabitants of Lyons that this magistrate forbids 
any banquet, ball, or public meeting to take place without the 
authority of the mayor of the district where it is appointed to 
be held. As authority for this determination, the prefect refers 
to three ancient laws, the inapplicability of which cannot be 

16 



THE IJ^SURRECTIONS IN LYONS. 

doubted by any one. In any case, however, this command, and 
the laws in virtue of which it is made, will have no weight in 
reference to the banquet appointed for next month. The commis- 
sioners who direct it declare to their numerous subscribers, and 
the citizens whom it may concern, that it icill take place on the 
5th of May in the Elysee Lyonnais aux Brotteaux ; and that, 
besides arrang-ements for the toasts having* been made, the com- 
missioners will receive suggestions on this subject from the inha- 
bitants of Lyons until the 1st of May, and those of visitors until 
the 3d of May." 

Paying no attention to this intemperate address, M. Gasparin 
prudently contented himself with taking such measures as- 
should secure the public peace, and the respect due to the laws. 
His firmness prevailed. After some hesitation, and the day 
having been changed to the 12th, the banquet was given up. 
On that day, however, the authorities took every precaution to 
guai'd against a surprise ; and thus the peace was preserved. 

It is important to observe, that while the weavers and others 
were pursuing their headlong course, trade had greatly revived 
throughout the country. The weavers had got into good em- 
ployment, and wages had risen in the natural course of things 
to be even higher than the rates which had been demanded by 
the tariff in 1831. Orders were still flowing in upon the manu- 
facturers, and affairs seemed likely to continue flourishing, whea 
suddenly the looms were stopped, the unions into which the 
weavers had formed themselves declaring a strike till certain 
concessions were granted. Deputations, calling themselves the 
chiefs of sections, visited the principal houses, and enjoined the 
manulacturers to raise their wages. This demand extended not 
only to the work which might be done in the future, but that 
already in the looms ; and the penalty threatened to the manu- 
facturers was the withdrawal of all hands. The stoppage of the 
looms, and these requisitions, threw the trade into confusion. 
The manufacturers had undertaken orders which they were de- 
sirous of executing ; and the weavers having undertaken to per- 
form the work at certain prices, it was considered that, according 
to all ordinary principles of justice, they should not fail in their 
bargain. Hitherto, the manufacturers had acted upon no prin- 
ciple of union ; but the extent of the evil with which they were 
threatened now brought them to concert measures in general 
self-defence. Some of them, employing more than three thou- 
sand looms, composed and signed the following agreement: — 
*• First, That they would not admit any discussions on the dis- 
putes between themselves and the weavers from the pretended 
proxies of the sections ; and that they would not consent, 
during the progress of any work, to a change in the wages 
of the weavers from that originally agreed upon and arranged 
between the manufacturer and master weaver. Second, In the 
case of one or more looms being stopped in a work-room in con- 

17 



THE INSURRECTIONS IN LYONS. 

sequence of these coalitions, the manufacturers would cease to 
give work to the master of the same for any of his looms, so 
long" as the strike lasted.'- 

The following being yet more explicit, appeared in one of the 
journals : — 

*'A great number of manufacturers considering that, to supply- 
work to a workman who refuses, in consequence of a coalition, 
to labour for any particular house, would be to render themselves 
partners in his guilt, and responsible for the injuries caused to 
the said house, make known to those who may be ignorant of it, 
that they have entered into a compact and agreement among them- 
selves not to employ any of the looms belonging to those who 
had been concerned in the interdiction." 

Some of the leaders were arrested, and, thanks to the power of 
the authorities, there was a short truce. Business went on again 
until the early part of 1834, the interval, however, being marked 
by political agitations, instigated by republicans and anarchists. 

During the last months of the winter, the manufactures of 
Lyons sold well, although there was a falling off in present em- 
ployment, to be explained by the abundant production of the last 
two years, which had stocked the warehouses. The carnival was 
very gay ; and there were all kinds of festivities, balls, parties, and 
brilliant fetes, in which the royalists bore a full share — giving* 
themselves up to pleasure, since it was no time for graver doings. 
These fetes and balls employed a great number of persons, forced 
money into circulation, and thus tended directly to better the 
condition of the humbler classes. It should be remembered, too, 
that the occupation of the Lyonnese is essentially one connected 
with luxury : its rich stuffs and velvets, and figured satins at 
thirty or forty francs an ell, can onl}'- be purchased and worn by 
the rich. Thus to declaim against splendour and luxury, was to 
declaim ag-ainst that which gave food to the operatives : and yet 
this was what the republican journalists did ; and not content 
with disseminating their absurd theoi-y, they stimulated the 
people to violence. One of the wealthy bankers of Lyons had 
issued invitations for a fancy ball on a scale of great magnifi- 
cence, and soon afterwards he received a letter, signed Mollard 
Lefevre, summoning him, in the name of the misery of the 
people, to bestow a large sum of money on the poor, to expiate 
the wrong of the promised entertainment. It took place, never- 
theless, and was very brilliant ; but crowds of low people 
thronged the avenues, and gathered at the entrance where the 
carriages drew up, insulting the guests in the most shameful 
manner. As yet, howevei^, there was no actual outbreak. 

TROUBLES AND INSURRECTION OF 1834. 

A dulness in the silk trade of Lyons at the beginning of 1834, 
put it out of the power of the manufacturers of certain articles to 
continue such wages as they had been paj'ing: and a small re- 

18 



THE INSURRECTIONS IN LYONS. 

duction was announced. This, united with the recommendations 
of their false friends, determined the societies of weavers to bring 
about a decisive strike in February 1834. The Mutuellists met 
on Wednesday the l'2th, to deliberate on a general stoppage of 
work: 2341 master weavers were present: 1297 voices were for 
the g-eneral cessation of labour, and 1044 against it. The meet- 
ing had lasted all day ; and at half-past ten o'clock in the even- 
ing the executive commission decreed that suspension of work 
should take place in all the work-rooms from Friday the 14th. 
The next day all the weavers to whom salary was due applied 
to claim it, many of them warning the manufacturers of all 
that was passing, and deploring most sincerely that they were 
compelled to obey the majority. 

Almost at the same hour, more than 20,000 looms ceased 
working. A great number of the master weavers, as well as 
their assistants, wished to continue their regular employment; 
but deputies from the different lodges visited the work-rooms, 
and when they found any one unwilling to join them, they 
threatened to break the looms to pieces ; a narrow watch was 
also kept upon all those who seemed desirous of continuing their 
work. Force often operated where persuasions would have failed. 
Many of the operatives obeyed, but with lamentations ; and others 
left the city, determining to await the result at a distance from 
the scene of action.. The funeral of a weaver gave occasion to 
a kind of review of their numbers. Nearly 1200 formed the 
procession, walking four and four ; two of the society called 
Ferandiniers on one side, and two of the Mutuellists on the 
other. A commissary of police, M. Menouillard, followed by 
several soldiers, ordered some of the men to remove the ensigns 
of the companies in which they were dressed, and the wearing 
of which had been forbidden. His injunctions were slighted, and 
the procession passed on its way. 

Much uneasiness was felt on this occasion. People called to 
mind, as they beheld this lon^; tile of workmen, the meetings 
and processions which preceded the insurrection of November. 
A great number of respectable families quitted the city; and 
terror reigned among the manufacturers. The majority of them 
concealed their goods, or packed them up and sent them away, 
procuring passports, and withdrawing themselves in many in- 
stances. Stock to an immense amount was thus removed from 
Lyons; and many disasters were clearly foreseen. M. Prunelle 
addressed a proclamation to the workpeople, containing the fol- 
lowing sentences : " The cessation of work among the silk 
weavers has not been confined to those manufactures the prices 
of which have been lowered ; but the looms have been stopped in 
those work-rooms where labour has been best paid, and where the 
workmen are content. This could not have occurred but from 
the coalition among them— a thing forbidden by an article in the 
penal code. They have given a violent blow to the interests of 

19 



THE INSURRECTIONS IN LYONS. 

the first manufacturing- city in France, putting a stop to trade,, 
frightening away purchasers, causing the removal of property, 
and bringing such misery upon the operatives, as may hurry 
them to a revolt. Are they Lyonnese — are they Frenchmen, who 
can entertain such desig-ns ? They are men who are striving to 
bring about a civil war, and meditating crimes punishable with 
death according to the penal code." 

But the workmen belonging to the societies took no account of 
the articles referred to in the penal code ; and things continued 
in the same state of violence and agitation for several days. 

Meanwhile, those manufacturers who had not quitted Lyons re- 
mained passive ; for they knew that the laws were opposed to the 
disturbances that were going on, and they determined, while re- 
solutely refusing all individual concessions, to wait patiently the 
course of events. Much of the future was centered in them. 
However, a deputation of the master weavers waited upon the 
prefect, and intreated him to become a mediator. M. Gaspa- 
rin declined interfering. He declared to the delegates that the 
administration had nothing to do in a matter relating entirely to 
trade ; that the weavers were free to work or not ; and while on 
their part there was no attempt at disorder, no criminal act, he 
could do nothing. '' But if," said he, " the laws are violated, 
the authorities will do their duty." By this prudent conduct 
the administration avoided compromising itself, or swerving 
from its right course. Yet every moment an explosion might be 
expected ; and General Buchet took good care that it should not 
come on him unawares. 

Some well-meaning but weak persons adopted the expedient of 
addressing a letter or petition to the members of the executive- 
council of the society of Mutuellists, soliciting from them a sort ' 
of capitulation. Signatures were necessary, and among others 
they obtained that of M. Charles Depouilly, given willingly; 
although his associate, M. Schirmir, had been killed in the 
insurrection of November by the very party whom he now con- 
descended to petition. This proceeding was, in fact, a recogni- 
tion of the authority of the executive commission of the master 
weavers. 

The next step was to propose a " mercuriale," or scale of 
wages, to the manufacturers, which was done by delegates of 
the workmen; but this too was firmly declined by their em- 
ployers. Taught by experience, they knew that their part was 
to be passive, and that a concession from one would compromise 
the interests of all. The deputies made out a list of pretended 
adherents to the mercuriale ; but when questioned, they denied 
having yielded. The manufacturers remained firm. 

In the emergency at which matters had arrived, several master 
weavers wished to continue working, and sought the assistance 
of the authorities, which was promised as far as it could be made 
available. M. Prunelle announced that piquets of infantry 

20 



THE INSURRECTIONS IN LYONS. 

would be placed in the different streets tenanted by the silk 
weavers, and that they would have authority to arrest all persons 
who injured the looms, or attempted in any way to prevent the 
well-disposed from working'. This measure was carried into exe- 
cution ; but it failed in its purpose after all ; for the men who had 
sought leg-al assistance were afraid of trusting" themselves to it, 
dreading" the vengeance of the combined malcontents, especially 
the commission of the Mutuellists. 

During" this constrained idleness, which lasted eight days, it 
was calculated that a million of francs — upwards of £40,000 — 
was lost to the handicraft and commercial interests of the city, 
independently of the withdrawal of capital from trade. Dread- 
ing tumult and pillage, the shopkeepers gloomily shut their 
places of business at six o'clock in the evening. The theatre 
was entirely deserted ; and all the fetes and entertainments 
which had been announced were postponed indefinitely. A 
mob of disorderly and worthless persons, of whom every great 
city must contain many, assembled each evening on the Place 
des Terreaux, as if to organise themselves for a riot. On the 
19th and 20th, interference became necessary; but at the first 
roll of the drum they dispersed, except about fourteen indivi- 
duals, who attempted resistance, and were arrested. The au- 
thorities persisted in the line of conduct which they had wisely 
laid down, only interfering when the laws were broken, but 
adding to their means of maintaining the respect and obedience 
due to them. This they did with equal activity and prudence ; 
and on the 21st of February, it seemed that affairs were ap- 
proaching towards agreement and settlement. A number of 
weavers commenced work, although the great and influential 
body belonging to La Croix Rousse still persisted in their j)lans ; 
and when a few looms began to move, threw stones at the win- 
dows. Finally, all labour was suspended. In the course of the 
da}--, the popular feeling developed itself in a manner which had 
been long expected. Quarrels and lights took place between 
the rival parties — those desirous of continuing their work, and 
those who strove to prevent them. A detachment of infantry, 
accompanied by the commissary of the police, was called in, and 
many of the disorderly were taken into custody. 

In this, as in most other strikes, the unionists had miscalcu- 
lated the amount of funds necessary to support them while they 
were out of work. Reckoning men, women, and children, not 
fewer than 80,000 individuals required to be maintained, and the 
means which had been stored were speedily exhausted. The 
prospect of starvation powerfully contributed to restore many 
to their senses. The Mutuellists, who had been the first to stop 
the looms, were now the foremost to propose a return to work ; 
but to this the Ferandiniers loudly demurred, and demanded that 
at all events the Mutuellists should give them compensation for 
the time they had lost. They talked even of entering an action 

21 



THE INSURRECTIONS IN LYONS. 

for damages ag-ainst them. Stormy discussions liad taken place 
among" the Miituellists. The president of the council was accused 
of having: sold himself to the republican or to the leg'itimist 
party, and of having- betrayed the cause of the workmen. The 
members talked of entering- a formal accusation ag-ainst him ; 
but he treated it very lightly, g-ave in his resignation, and with- 
drew from the assembly. On the 22d, work was more generally 
resumed ; and the next day, without any communication with 
the manufacturers, and without any concession to the plush 
weavers, all the looms resumed their work. 

Whilst all this was going on, there had been an outbreak at St 
Stephens, which had ended in the cowardly assassination of an 
agent of police. The poor man left seven children. The blow was 
struck from behind, without provocation, and he fell dead on the 
instant. This was the act of a republican party; and from the exa- 
minations of those who were arrested, there was evidence of a 
deep plot, having its chief instigators at Lyons. At this moment^ 
the confederacies of workmen and politicians were a species of 
state within a state, and through the channel of the journals 
boldly dehed the laws and the national authority. Six Mutuel- 
lists having been arrested as chiefs of one of these illegal bodies, 
their trial served only as a convenient pretext for revolt. Such 
was the daring character of the conspirators, that twenty master 
weavers addressed a letter to the conductor of the prosecution, 
declaring themselves also members of the executive council, and 
claiming by this title to be also proceeded against. The society 
of Mutuellists approved of all this, and gravely expressed an in- 
tention of deliberating whether or not they should show any 
longer a respect for the laws. Having given some consideration 
to the question, they passed a resolution to resist them, which 
was giving a formal effect to what their organs had akeady 
pretty broadly announced. 

As Saturday the 5th of April, the day appointed for the trial 
of the Mutuellists, drew near, it became evident that it would 
be made the occasion of some new outbreak. The authorities 
were divided in their opinion what to do. Some wei'e for occu- 
pying certain streets and Places with troops of the line- but 
then "it was remembered that other trials in connexion with the 
coalitions had taken place without disturbances, and so might 
this. Moved by a wish to avoid all cause of excitement, M. Pic, 
the president of the tribunal, the judges, and the bar, agreed 
that the trial of the Mutuellists should not be accompanied by 
military parade. This was a fatal error, for they could not be 
ignorant of the projects of the ringleaders, the excitement exist- 
ing among the workmen, their contempt of the laws, and the 
probabihty there was that some slight incident might prove 
sufficient to stimulate the multitude to an insurrection. 

The Mutuellists laid their plans as follows : — From each lodge 
of twenty men, five were stationed either in the hall of audience 

22 



THE INSURRECTIONS IN LYONS. 

or in the court of justice ; five were appointed to watcli in the 
Place St Jean, or the neig'hbouring' streets ; and the remaining" 
ten assembled in their customary lodge, to await further com- 
mands. By these arrang-eraents, it was hoped to org-anise and 
maintain an uproar, all parties working* to each other's hands. 
To make plenty of noise, and, if possible, intimidate judge and 
jury, was of the first importance. The day of the trial at length 
arrived, and an immense concourse of people filled the enclo- 
sure of the police court, the courtyard, and the Place St Jean. 
All the workmen were at their posts. The crowd was not abso- 
lutely unruly, though visibly and audibly agitated. After a 
tedious examination of witnesses, the tribunal, wearied with the 
noise and confusion, announced, throug-h M. Pic, the president, 
that if silence were not maintained, they should withdraw from 
the hall, and continue the trial with closed doors. The case was 
adjourned till the following- Wednesday; but this decision not 
being" clearly understood by the crowd, who thoug-ht they saw an 
intention of conducting afiairs privately, loud cries arose of " Go 
on with the trial! No closed doors! Liberty to our brothers!" 
At this moment one of the witnesses came out. He had been 
giving his evidence without anger, but he had deposed to the 
threats which the association had used to compel him to cease 
working. Hardly had he appeared, when he was recognised, and 
assaulted so violently, that his life was in danger. Some of the 
advocates in their gowns came to the poor man's assistance ; and 
M. Chegaray, the attorney-general, indignant at the brutal vio- 
lence which was displayed, threw himself into the crowd to pro- 
tect his witness, reached him, disentangled him, and, seizing 
hold of one of his assailants, exclaimed, " In the name of the 
king and of the law I arrest you ! " This magistrate was also 
insulted and injured ; and only with extreme difficulty was he 
extricated from the mob by a few courageous individuals. 

An accident, however, now heightened the fury of the malcon- 
tents.. The president had called to his aid a detachment of about 
sixty soldiers, commanded by Captain Paquette, to clear the 
court, where there was a tumult, which prevented business pro- 
ceeding. The sight of the military seemed to infuriate the work- 
men : there was a simultaneous burst of vociferations ; and their 
conduct was openly seditious. One section of the detachment 
was placed across the door, the other remained in tlie court; but 
they could not control the mob. The section at the door was 
borne down by a sudden and irresistible movement ; several men 
were disarmed ; and though Captain Paquette threw himself for- 
ward, and regained possession of the firearms, all other efforts 
were useless. M. Chegaray himself made the three formal sum- 
monses (equivalent to our reading of the riot act). The soldiers 
endeavoured to drive away the rioters; but, pressed and suffo- 
cated as they were by an enormous mass, their small number 
had no power. They paused : the workmen renewed their threats, 

23 



THE INSURRECTIONS IN LYONS. 

•and began to inquire if tlieir muskets were loaded. Some of the 
soldiers obeyed their signs ; and the sharp sound of the ramrod, 
as it passed down to the bottom of the barrel, assured the mul- 
titude that they had nothing to fear. " Take away the bayonets ! 
- — down with the bayonets ! " they cried ; and the detachment 
=at once submitted. Some of the soldiers caroused with the 
Mutuellists in the yard of the palace and on the Place St Jean. 

A brigadier of the gens-d'armes courageously threw himself 
into the crowd to rescue M. Chegaray ; a workman, a tailor, said 
to those near him, " Behold the brigadier that we saw in the 
November war — we must kill him. Come on, my comrades ; 
one blow ; you know that we will help you." The gendarme 
was immediately attacked on all sides. His sword was broken ; 
they snatched from him his cross of honour, of which they 
made a sort of trophy, and which they threw into the Saone 
with mock solemnity. This brigadier, assisted by some brave 
people, escaped death only by flight ; and the house in which 
he took refuge was attacked. Another gendarme was almost 
equally ill used ; and the multitude feeling themselves masters, 
the greatest excesses were to be feared. The judges and the 
different officers about the court were really in much dang-er; 
some of them escaped by a side door, others by a window which 
opened to a hay-loft ; and M. Arnaud received a wound in the 
hand either from a knife or a dagger. 

Encouraged hj this appearance of victory, next day a large 
body of workmen attended in public procession the funeral of a 
Mutuellist master weaver, in order to demonstrate their force. 
Eight thousand men composed the funeral procession, and among 
them were remarked a number who were members of the society 
of the Rights of Man. Four, and sometimes five walked together, 
and, moving at a brisk pace, the entire mass occupied twentj''- 
seven minutes in passing, the average being seventy files in a 
minute. At eight o'clock in the evening numbers of these men 
ran about the principal streets singing revolutionary songs, and 
crying, " Long live the republic ! Down with the tyrants ! Down 
with moderation." 

Not only from the apparent supineness of the authorities in 
overlooking these excesses, but from what they had experienced 
of the temper of the few military brought against them, there 
was a general idea among the working-classes of Lyons that the 
army was discontented, and that, in the event of a rebellion, it 
would either join them, or at the worst remain neutral. Hence 
a degree of audacity to which it is difficult to find any other 
key. Perhaps some distrust of the military extended to the 
manufacturers, for on the Monday and Tuesday they commenced 
packing up their most valuable goods, and many of them left 
the city. Another idea, too, which prevailed was, that in the 
event of a collision, the authorities would abandon the streets 
to their fate, and concentrate all their strength in the detached 

24 



THE INSURRECTIONS IN LIONS. 

forts. It will shortly be seen that these opinions were unfounded. 
The French arm}'', with all its imperfections, was loyal to the 
constitution, and, at least from the instinct of habit, would obey 
its commanders. The g-overnment also, instructed by former 
errors, was prepared for what mig-lit happen, and contemplated 
the most energ'etic measures. It was, however, resolved to act 
with g-reat discretion, it bein^ no light matter to place such a 
populous city as Lyons in a state of sieg-e. 

Wednesday the 9th of April, the day of the postponed trial, 
arrived, and early in the morning" all the troops were at their 
post, fully accoutred and provided with food for two days. The 
order had indeed been g-iven that they should be provisioned if 
necessary for four days, but an accident prevented this command 
being" fulfilled. They were divided into four chief divisions, 
commanded by General Fleury, Lieutenant-Colonel Dieltman, 
General Buchet, and Lieutenant-General Aj'^mard ; the last being- 
stationed at Bellecour with the reserve. He was assisted by 
General Dejean, who, passing" through Lyons at the time, seized 
the opportunity of being of service to his* country. The bridges 
were occupied, the forts all manned, and cannon were placed in 
commanding situations. A strong detachment of the 7th regiment 
protected the interior of the hall of justice, having been placed 
there in the night. Some gens-d'armes were also stationed within. 

At eight o'clock intelligence was brought to M. Gasparin that 
the chiefs of a section of the society of the Rights of Man had 
assembled in a house in the Rue Bourgchanin, having with them 
a number of seditious papers still damp from the press. A member 
of the council advised the immediate arrest of these men, whose 
unlawful intentions were evident. Another, and a wiser, objected 
to so decided a step, which would have made the first act of 
aggression appear to be on the part of the authorities. At half- 
past nine a crowd began to gather at the Place St Jean, and 
the Hotel de Chevrieres. The greater part of the hig-h function- 
aiies were together near the scene of coming events. Some of the 
leadei'S of the principal associations appeared on the Place St 
Jean, and it was demanded again if they were to be arrested ; 
but they had committed no disorder, and the magistrates were 
determined to avoid committing* an act of aggression. One man 
placed himself in the middle of a group, and read a republican 
paper addressed to the soldiers and workmen ; but a colonel of 
gens-d'armes plucked the damp sheet from his hand, and arrested 
him. The mob appeared to augment, but all at once they de- 
pai'ted, not a republican or workman appearing before the cathe- 
dral, where silence and solitude reigned. 

Barricades were now raised at the ends of the principal streets, 
for v/hich some unfinished houses supplied abundance of materials, 
though barrels and beams were used, and paving-stones torn up. 
The plan of the insurgents was to surround General Buchet with 
these barriers, and cut off all communication with his allies ; but 

25. 



THE INSURRECTIONS IX LYONS. 

iie was informed of all that was going' on, and gave orders to 
half a hattalion of soldiers, and a platoon of gens-d'armes, to 
clear the public streets, beginning with that of St Jean ; but to 
abstain from firing, unless some act of insurgency was committed. 
When the detachment arrived, they found the Place nearly de- 
serted. Some soldiers and some of the police threw themselves 
on the barricades and overthrew them ; but they were assailed 
at the same instant by showers of stones thrown by men who 
were sheltered behind walls, doors, or chimneys. This was not 
only resistance, but attack, and a volley was instantly fired. At 
this time the trial of the Mutuellists had commenced ; but at the 
noise of the musketry M. Jules Frere, the advocate for the 
accused, stopped : he would not continue pleading while the 
people were slaughtering each other. Every one seemed excited 
and affected ; and M. Pic, the president, dissolved the meeting. 
Instantly magistrates, counsellors, Mutuellists who were present, 
and idle spectators brought thither by curiosity, rushed helter 
skelter away, each seeking to reach his dwelling before hostilities 
should become yet more alarming. Faivi'e, an agent of police, 
was already mortally wounded ; and as thej carried him to the 
Hotel de Chevrieres, his blood, which flowed fast, proclaimed 
what deeds were being accomplished. He died in the evening, 
although the first surgical aid was called in. M. Gasparin, ac- 
companied by a counsellor belonging to the Prefecture, reached 
the bridge Tilsitt, near the church of St Jean, at the moment the 
conflict began: soon afterwards, with a company of light in- 
fantry, he assisted at the attack of the barricade at the Rue des 
Pretres, which was razed under a hail of paving-stones. 

In other places the insurgents were not idle. Everywhere 
was heard firing between them and the military. In another 
quarter of an hour fresh barriers arose in a multitude of dififerent 
places. They encircled the Place of the Prefecture, and cut off 
some of the leading streets. A few men, often unarmed, erected 
them in the presence of an astonished crowd, employing fagots, 
empty barrels, doors, pieces of wood of all sorts, carts, carriages, 
&c. The bulk of the city was in this manner soon divided into 
several sections. The lieutenant-general sent a piece of cannon 
to be placed in a situation fit to command the street of the Prefec- 
ture, and clear it of the rebels. Before noon the insurrection was 
general. As soon as barricades were raised, they were attacked 
by the soldiers. The quay de Retz was cleared in an instant. 
The quay Bon Rencontre was obstructed by a cart heavily laden 
with bales of silk ; this the soldiers hurled into the rivei' with its 
rich burden : it was carried by the waters to the Rue Maiirico,' 
where it was dragged out six days afterwards. The military 
were attacked with stones, tiles, and missiles of different kinds, 
and many of the insurgents had firearms, which they used fatallj''. 
One house caused much trouble to the soldiers, by the shots 
that came from it ; but a petard carried away the door, when the 

26 



THE INSURRECTIONS IN LYONS, 

inmates threw down their arms, and falling- on their knees, 
beg-g'ed for life. They were made prisoners. The cannon now 
came into play, its loud and terrible tones drowning- for the 
moment every other sound. 

Shops and warehouses were shut : not a soul was there to be 
seen at the windows. Blocked up in their houses, the peaceably- 
disposed citizens sought to shelter themselves from the shot 
which hurled along- the thoroughfares, carrying death in its 
course. To increase the misery of the scene, a biting' north wind 
began to blow. Sometimes the signal of the tocsin was heard ; 
and sometimes for a few minutes there was an awful silence. The 
city seemed as if abandoned to the genius of destruction. Showers 
of balls swept across the bridges and along the quays, while com- 
panies of soldiers were marching- hither and thither firing' down, 
streets and alleys, and clearing' everything- before them. 

A fierce encounter, however, was going- on at the Place de la 
Prefecture. From half-past eleven this spot had been surrounded 
with barricades ; and a considerable body of insurgents lay in 
ambuscade in the theatre. All their attacks were directed against 
the hotel of the Prefecture, which they could not force, though 
they were met only by a passive resistance. After vain attempts 
to throw down the barrier, the insurgents provided themselves 
with ladders, and tried to scale it. A numerous group threw 
themselves into the street of the Prefecture, hoping to surprise 
the troops ; but the cannon swept them thence, and they returned 
to the siege of the hotel. However, General Buchet had jDro- 
vided against this : he g-ave the signal, and they were attacked on 
both sides. It would be tedious to narrate the particulars of the 
murderous conflict which ensued, or of the equally vig-orous mea- 
sures which were taken in other parts of the city. It is sufficient 
to say that at the end of this first day of the conflict the courage 
and determination of the military had prevailed ; and the follow- 
ing address from Lieutenanit-General Aymard was issued : — 

"■ Soldiers ! — you have done your duty, and all good citizens 
applaud your conduct. Led on by their ignorance and their evil 
passions, the enemies of their country have removed the mask • 
they have thrown down the gauntlet, which you have gloriously 
taken up. They have been overthrown at all points where they 
thought themselves most strong: their barricades have been razed 
in all directions. A few more efforts, and you will have restored 
tranquillity to the second city in the kingdom, and saved it from 
the most frightful disasters. Soldiers ! — the king already knows 
how worthily you have answered the aggression of the factious." 

The garrison were in possession of all the commanding points ; 
and from the beginning of hostilities, the insurgents had been 
driven back, and pent up in the streets in the heart of the 
city, where they were cut off from communicating with each 
other, or receiving assistance ; and now there was neither unity of 
opinion nor strength among them. The only anxiety of the troops 

27 



THE INSURRECTIOXS IN LYONS. 

bore reference to the uncertainty of provisions. However, at 
midnight an expedition set out for the purpose of relieving- their 
necessities, and was successfuh In the course of the night also, a 
detachment took up a strong position on the bridge La Mulatiere. 

At eight o'clock the following morning the conflict recom- 
menced. Men from the roofs of houses and behind chimneys 
lired upon the military. The cannon again thmidered, literally 
sweeping the principal street of La Guillotiere, and setting' many 
houses on fire; in particular, one large and beautiful mansion, 
from which the flames spread till this part of the populous suburb 
was a heap of smoking ruins. An impetuous attack of the mili- 
tary at last dislodged the insurgents from their position. At 
another point near the hospital, the troops maintained a tre- 
mendous fire of musketry against a party of working-men, who 
lay there in ambush behind a barricade. In many instances, the 
balls rebounding, entered in at the windows of the houses, and 
wounded several women. It is a mournful reflection, that in 
civil war, or any rebellious outbreaks, the innocent often sufl'er 
for the guilty ; and in Lyons, many were the well-disj)osed men, 
and many the women, children, and old persons, who perished 
in this unhappy conflict. Imagination can scarcely picture the 
scene : cannon thundering*, shells exploding — for in this manner 
many houses were forced — the wounded wailing, and the angry 
passions of all parties becoming yet more fierce. At noon, black 
flags were seen floating from the more conspicuous church spires, 
and the tocsin, or alarm-bell, was heard tolling- on ail sides, 
giving an additional horror to the struggle. 

Alarmed for the public safety, many well-disposed citizens pre- 
sented themselves this day before jSI. Gasparin, and sought the 
privilege of arming themselves in defence of order and the laws. 
Their proposition was at first thankfully received ; but, on con- 
sideration, it appeared that it would be so diflicult to distinguish 
between the good and the bad merely from words and outward 
appearance, that the risk of supplying arms to the disafiected 
would be too great to be run. Their offer was therefore politely 
declined, and the spokesman of the iJarty withdrew. 

It was painful to remark, in the strife which was going on, 
how much disorder was committed by the apprentices and lan~ 
ciers, or shuttle boys. Many of these youths crept insidiously 
among the cavalry, seizing favourable moments to stab the 
horses or aim a blow at the dragoons. Others explored the less- 
frequented streets, armed with bad guns or pistols, firing them 
when it struck their fancy, and committing no small mischief, 
without fear of the consequences. 

In the afternoon of this terrible day, the army sustained a 
heavy loss in the death of Colonel Monnier. Leading on a 
party of grenadiers to destroy a barricade in the street of St 
Marcel, and wishing to show them how easy it was to carry such 
a defence, he jumped upon the barricade, and was immediately 

28 



THE INSURRECTIONS IN LYONS. 

killed by a musket shot. The death of their brave officer in- 
furiated the g-renadiers ; they threw themselves on the barricade, 
scaled it, beat it to the g'round, and pursued the insurgents, who 
fled in all directions. A few of the soldiers saw some of the re- 
fugees enter a house in the direction whence the shot had come 
that killed their colonel. With ung-overnable fury they rushed 
into the dwelling-, ran up the stairs, forced open the room doors, 
and firing" indiscriminately, killed, among- many others, M. 
Joseph Remond, one of the most respected citizens of Lyons. 

In the course of the day, the college, a large edifice front- 
ing the Rhone, containing the public library, was set on fire 
three times, but on each occasion extinguished. The library, 
though threatened with destruction, fortunately escaped any 
damage. At the close of the day, if the troops had gained no 
decisive success, they had lost none of their advantages. The 
insurgents had nowhere gained ground, though they had fought 
with more obstinacy than had been expected. That the insur- 
rection was not already crushed, was owing to the comparative 
feebleness of the garrison. The national guard also had done 
little efficient service in the conflict. 

Some shots were exchanged during the night ; and at two 
o'clock on the Friday morning a body of the republicans at- 
tempted to open a passage by the side of the Hotel de Ville, 
but were vigorously repulsed. At break of day, the tocsin of 
Saint Bonaventure sounded loudly, and the firing became gene- 
ral; missiles fell on the houses of the Place Bellecour; and it 
was discovered that the insurgents had cannon ! These were two 
pieces from Saint Tre'nee, which the soldiers had spiked on 
quitting the fort. A locksmith had repaired them ; but having 
no balls, they had charged them with pieces of iron, and all sorts 
of missiles. At the close of this day La Guillotiere submitted, 
and M. de Gasparin addressed a proclamation to the inhabitants, 
which was left at their doors. It explained to them the necessity 
there was of their keeping within their own boundaries, since to 
permit free ingress and egress would afford facilities to the insur- 
gents for fresh violence ; and it assured them that the authorities 
carefully watched over their interests. This day was disastrous 
to the republican party. 

On Saturday the 12th, the soldiers were exposed to additional 
hardships ; for the cold was intense, and there was a heavy fall 
of snow. They bivouacked in the open air, whilst the insurgents 
withdrew at night into their dwellings. During the last three 
days all communication between the different parts of the city 
had been cut off. No person had been able to send or receive a 
letter; and none of them knew what was going on at Paris. 
Many of the sick remained without help, for very few surgeons 
had been able to come among them. There were many dwellings 
without bread, and others where the dead were lying, without the 
survivors having the power to burv them. 

2y 



THE INSURRECTIONS IN LYONS. 

La Guillotiere ag-ain began firing, but was again subdued. 
General Fleury determined to attack the suburb of Vaise, which 
was in a deplorable condition, being held by a republican party, 
who threatened violence against the magistrates, and to set fire 
to the houses. They were a cowardly set ; they would not fight 
except behind defences ; and here the soldiers, maddened by the 
loss of three officers, and many of their comrades, fired in at 
the windows. Here again the innocent fell. Of fortj^'-seven 
dead bodies, twenty-one werefound to be those of wompn, children, 
and old men ! They were publicly exposed to be claimed ; and 
those who witnessed the relatives and friends recognising the 
mutilated dead, never could forget the scene. 

A melancholy'' accident occurred in the prison of Perrache, 
where several of the insurgents taken prisoners were confined. 
They had been forbidden to approach the windows, and the 
soldiers on guard had strict orders to enforce obedience. One of 
them, however, insulted a sentinel, and refused to obey his com— ■ 
mands. The soldier fii*ed, but unhappily his ball struck one of 
the prisoners who was sitting in the room quietly reading, with 
his back to the window. The ball entered at his neck, and passed 
through his head ; he did not die on the spot, but lingered in 
agony for three days. The soldier was tried before a court- 
martial for his severity, but it was found that he had acted only 
according to the orders he had received, and was acquitted. 

On Sunday the 13th, it was evident the end was drawing near. 
No places of importance remained in the hands of the insurgents. 
At eight o'clock, a proclamation of the prefect allowed foot-pas- 
sengers to traverse the streets, prohibiting only the stoppage of 
more than five persons in a pubHc thoroughfare. But it was 
very hazardous to take advantage of this permission ; for it was 
difficult for the soldiers to distinguish between good citizens and 
rebels ; and they were so often attacked by cowardly assassins, 
that they were obliged constantly to be on theii' guard. In some 
quarters it was even dangerous to approach the windows, so fre- 
quent was still the firing. La Croix Rousse and the suburb of 
Bresse yet held out after the other quarters had submitted. 
General Fleury was ordered to attack them ; but before employ- 
ing irresistible force, he thought it humane to address one more 
summons of surrender to the insurgents. Marshall Claperon, 
followed by two fusileers, was the bearer of this missive to the 
mayor of La Croix Rousse, braving with much coolness the 
probable chance of being killed by the republicans. No answer 
was returned to General Fleury; and measures were taken to 
annihilate the insurgents if they still resisted. 

Early in the morning of Monday the 14th, General Fleury 
and the colonel of the 27th took the road to Caluire, and disposed 
the troops so as to encircle La Croix Rousse. The insurgents 
wished now to parley, but it was too late for concessiofis. Per- 
ceiving that they had nothing to hope for, they offered a des- 



THE INSURRECTIONS IN LYONS. 

perate resistance. A house containing" a party of rebels was 
attacked by the grenadiers behind and the lig-ht infantry before, 
and an entrance was speedily forced. Flight was impossible ; 
and numbers were shot or made prisoners. Eig-ht or ten soldiers 
were severely wounded in this affair, and their drummer was 
killed. The subjug-ation of La Croix Eousse was complete at 
noon the next day, the 15th. 

Thus, after a strug-gle of seven days, the insurrection of April 
1834 was brought to a close. The supremacy of the law had 
been completely vindicated, the insane attempt at rebellion had 
been quashed. Yes, the victory was gained ; but at what an 
expense of misery ! Distressing as were the results of the insur- 
rection of 1831, they fell greatly short of what had now been 
experienced. Besides the loss of life, property was destroyed t& 
a great extent. The appearance of the city was a frightful 
i^emorial of ail that had passed. Dwellings burnt to the ground, 
and others shattered by ball ; heaps of ruins in all directions, 
and lines of shops a scene of devastation. Yet, in the execution of 
their terrible duties, the military had been often wonderfully for- 
bearing ; and the officers bitterly lamented the destruction their 
operations caused. But they were called upon to restore order, 
and preserve the lives of their men. It was theii* part to save 
the second city of France from being abandoned to men who 
had avowed the most ferocious intentions. On the 15th, after 
the conquest of La Croix Rousse, an acknowledgment to the 
military for their services was voted ; and the government of 
the city was formally returned to the civil authorities. From 
that moment everything connected with the insurrection was 
in the hands of the police and the judges. 

CONCLUSION. 

At the close of the insurrection of 1831, the humiliation expe- 
rienced by the silk weavers was not unmixed with self-con- 
gratulation, for they could boast of having overpowered the mili- 
tary force which the authorities had thought tit to bring against 
them. At the termination of the struggle of 1834, their predo- 
minant feeling was that of deep mortitication. Baffled in their 
effort at revolution, disconcerted in their visionary projects, and 
impoverished in resources, they now perceived that the law was 
too strong for them, and that they lay completely at its mercy. 
Calming down from their ferment, and fearing the consequences 
of their rebellion, they loudly accused the propagandists, and 
other demagogues, of having deceived them with promises, be- 
trayed them into excesses, and then left them to their fate. With 
at least the external appearance of repentance, they once more 
betook themselves to their professional labours ; but compara- 
tively few could be employed. So many manufacturers had left 
the city, and removed to other provinces, that it was computed the 
number of looms set to work after the events of April was reduced 



THE INSUKRECTIONS IN LYONS. 

by two-thirds ! There was thus a period of severe suffering from 
the prostration of trade, which unfortunately affected those who 
had taken no hand in the insurrection, as well as the parties who 
had promoted and been engaged in it. A considerable time 
elapsed before general confidence was restored, or the town re- 
covered its former appearance and character. 

It is a fact not unworthy of observation, and one which may 
point out significantly the motives which led to the Lyons insur- 
rections, that no great man, no master mind, was thrown for- 
ward in the course of the struggie. In this particular do these 
tumults present a remarkable exception in the historj^ of popular 
outbreaks. "When, in the fourteenth century, the Roman citizens 
rose against a tyrannical oligarchy, the humble Rienzi, whose 
mind had been formed by study and reflection, and whose virtues 
rendered him worthy the friendship of Petrarch, seemed a leader 
fit for and worthy of a great cause — albeit the mind which had 
supported misfortune bravely, became intoxicated by success. 
At Naples, the young fisherman, Masaniello, acted a no less 
heroic part, becoming solely, by the superiority of his mind, the 
supreme arbiter and the directing soul of a hundred and fifty 
thousand men. Even amid the horrors of the French Revolution, 
the qualities of great minds were exhibited, according to a gene- 
ral rule, that great events must bring them forward. But, in 
considering the insurrections of Lyons, we seek in vain for a 
name that will belong to history, or which rises above the merest 
commonplace. Had the second insurrection terminated like the 
first, by the conquest of the authorities, it is evident that as little 
g-ood could have arisen from it. Without means, plans, or a 
directing mind, the fruits of victory would have been more bitter 
than those of defeat. 

Since 1834, no new outbreak has occurred, nor have we heard 
X)f any disputes between employers and employed which have not 
been speedily arranged. Meanwhile, the fortifications which 
command the city and suburbs have been greatly strengthened 
and enlarged ; guns point do^vn. upon the streets, ready to lay 
them in ashes ; and, with a garrison of 12,000 troops, it is- be- 
lieved the city has nothing to fear from the more unruly part 
of the population. 

In the course of a visit which we paid to Lyons in the summer, 
of 1844, we found the silk weavers well employed, but were 
sorry to learn that they were far from being generally contented 
with their condition. Demoralised by the revolutionary doc- 
trines that had been spread so industriously amongst them, thej' 
maintained a grudge against the whole organisation of societjr j 
looking more to an indefinable something for bettering their 
situation, than to that prudent economy, dihgence, and skill, by 
which alone men are able to improve in their worldly circum- 
stances, or to that moral and intellectual advancement by which 
alone they can expect to enjoy institutional meliorations. " , 

3S 




THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH, AND 
OTHER BALLADS. 




No. 39. 



THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 
FIT I. 

^!RK was the night, and wild the storm, 

And loud the torrent's roar ; 
And loud the sea was heard to dash 
^ Ag-ainst the distant shore. 

Musing on man's weak hapless state. 

The lonely hermit lay, 
"When, lo ! he heard a female voice 

Lament in sore dismay. 

With hospitable haste he rose, 

And waked his sleeping fire, 
And snatching up a lighted brand. 

Forth hied the reverend sire. 

All sad beneath a neighbouring tree 

A beauteous maid he found, 
"NMio beat her breast, and with her teai*s 

Bedewed the mossy ground. 

weep not, lady, weep not so. 

Nor let vain fears alarm ; 
My little cell shall shelter thee, 

And keep thee safe from harm. 



THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 

It is not for myself I weep, 

Nor for myself I fear, 
But for my dear and only friend, 

Who lately left me here. 

And while som« sheltering* hower he sought 

"Within tliis lonely wood, 
Ah ! sore I fear his wandering" feet 

Have slipt in yonder flood. 

O ! trust in Heaven, the hermit sai^ 

And to my cell repair ; 
Doubt not but I shall find thy friend, 

And ease thee of thy eare. 

Then climbing" up his rocky stairs. 

He scales the cliif so high, 
And calls aloud, and waves hi« lig"ht 

To g*uide the stranger's eye. 

Among" the thickets long" he winds. 

With careful steps and slow, 
At leng"th a voice returned his call. 

Quick answering from below : 

O tell me, father, tell me true. 

If you have chanced to see 
A gentle maid I lately left 

Beneath some neighbouring tree ? 

But either I have lost the place, 

Or she hath gone astray, 
And much I fear this fatal stream 

Hath snatched her hence away. 

Praise Heaven, my son, the hermit said, 

The lady's safe and well ; 
And soon he j oined the wandering youth, 

And brought him to his cell. 

Then well was seen these gentle friends 

They loved each other dear : 
The youth he pressed her to his heart, 

The maid let fall a tear. 

Ah ! seldom had their host, I ween, 

Beheld so sweet a pair ; 
The youth was tall, with manly bloom; 

She slender, soft, and fair. 

The youth was clad in forest green, 

With bugle-horn so bright ; 
She in a silken robe and scarf. 

Snatched up in hasty flight. 



THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 

Sit down, my children, says the sage; 

Sweet rest your limbs require : 
Then heaps fresh fuel on the hearth, 

And mends his little fire. 

Partake, he said, my simple store, 
Dried fruits, and milk, and curds •, 

And spreading* all upon the board, 
Invites with kindly words. 

Thanks, father, for thy bounteous fare, 

The youthful couple say ; 
Then freely ate, and made good cheer, 

And talked their cares away. 

Now say, my children (for perchance 

My counsel may avail), 
What strange adventure brought you here 

Within this lonely dale ? 

First tell me, father, said the youth 
(Nor blame my eager tongue). 

What town is near? .What lands are these? 
And to what lord belong ? 

Alas ! my son, the hermit said, 

AVhy do I live to say 
The rightful lord of these domains 

Is banished far away ? 

Ten winters now have shed their snows 

On this my lowly hall, 
Since valiant Hotspur (so the north 

Our youthful lord did call) 

Against Fourth Henry Bolingbroke 

Led up his northern powers, 
And stoutly fighting, lost his life 

Near proud Salopians towers. 

One son he left, a lovely boy. 

His country's hope and heir ; 
And, oh ! to save him from his foes, 

It was his grandsire's care. 

In Scotland safe he placed the child 

Beyond the reach of strife, 
Not long before the brave old earl 

At Bramham lost his life. 

And now the Percy name, so long 

Our northern pride and boast, 
Lies hid, alas ! beneath a cloud; 

Their honours reft and lost. 



THE HERMIT OF WARK WORTH. 

No chieftain of that noble house 
Now leads our youth to arms ; 

The bordering Scots despoil our fields, 
And ravage all our farms. 

Their halls and castles, once so fair, 

Now moulder in decay ; 
Proud strangers now usurp their lands, 

And bear their wealth away. 

Not far from hence, where yon full stream 

Runs winding down the lea. 
Fair Warkworth lifts her lofty towers, 

And overlooks the sea. 

Those towers, alas ! now stand forlorn, 
With noisome weeds o'erspread. 

Where feasted lords and courtly dames, 
And where the poor were fed. 

Meantime, far off, 'mid Scottish hills, 

The Percy lives unknown ; 
On stranger's bounty he depends, 

And may not claim his own. 

might I with these aged eyes 

But live to see him here, 
Then should my soul depart in peace ! — 

He said, and dropt a tear. 

And is the Percy still so loved 

Of all his friends and thee ? 
Then bless me, father, said the youth. 

For I, thy guest, am he. 

Silent he gazed, then turaed aside 

To wipe the tears he shed ; 
And lifting up his hands and eyes. 

Poured blessings on his head. 

Welcome, our dear and much-loved lord, 
Thy country's hope and care ; 

But who may this young lady be, 
That is so wondrous fair ? 

Now, father, listen to my tale. 
And thou shalt know the truth ; 

And let thy sage advice direct 
My inexperienced youth. 



THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 

In Scotland I've been nobly bred 

Beneath the Regent's hand,* 
In feats of arms, and every lore 

To fit me for command. 

With fond impatience long I burned 

My native land to see ; 
At length I won my guardian friend 

To yield that boon to me. 

Then up and down, in hunter's garb, 

I wandered as in chase, 
Till, in the noble Neville's house,! 

I gained a hunter's place. 

Sometime with him I lived unknown, 

Till I'd the hap so rare 
To please this young and gentle dame, 

That baron's daughter fair. 

Now Percy, said the blushing maid, 

The truth I must reveal ; 
Souls great and generous like thine 

Their noble deeds conceal. 

It happened on a summer's day, 

Led by the fragrant breeze, 
I wandered forth to take the air 

Among the greenwood trees. 

Sudden a band of rugged Scots, 

That near in ambush lay, 
Moss-troopers fi'om the border-side, 

There seized me for their prey. 

My shrieks had all been spent in vain ; 

But Heaven, that saw my grief. 
Brought this brave youth within my cal], 

Who flew to my relief. 

With nothing but his hunting-spear. 

And dagger in his hand. 
He sprung like lightning on my foes, 

And caused them soon to stand. 

He fought till more assistance came ; 

The Scots were overthrown ; 
Thus freed me, captive, from their bands. 

To make me more his own. 

* Robert Stuart, Duke of Albany. 

] Ralph Neville, first Earl of Westmoreland, whose principal residence was at 
Raby Castle, in the bishopric of Durham. 

5 



THE HERMIT OF WARKWOBTH. 

liappy day ! the youtli replied ; 

Blest were the wounds I bare ! 
From that fond hour she deigned to smile, 

And listen to my prayer. 

And when she knew my name and birth, 

She vowed to be my bride ; 
But oh! we feared (alas, the while) 

Her princely mother's pride : 

Sister of haughty Bolingbroke, 

Our house's ancient foe, 
To me I thought a banished wigiit 

Could ne'er such favour show. 

Despairing then to gain consent, 

At length to fly with me 
I won this lovely timorous maid ; 

To Scotland bound are we. 

This evening', as the night drew on. 

Fearing we were pursued. 
We turned down the right-hand path, 

And gained this lonely wood ; 

Then lighting from our weary steeds 

To shun the pelting shower, 
"We met thy kind conducting hand. 

And reached this friendly bower. 

Now rest ye both, the hermit said ; 

Awhile your cares forego : 
Nor, lady, scorn my humble bed — 

We'll pass the night below. 

FIT II. 

Lovely smiled the blushing morn, 

And every storm was fled ; 
But lovelier far, with sweeter smile, 

Fair Eleanor Jeffc her bed. 

She found her Henry all alone, 
And cheered him with her sight : 

The youth, consulting with his friend, 
Had watched the livelong night. 

What sweet surprise o'erpowered her breast, 
Her cheeks what blushes dyed. 

When fondly he besought her there 
To yield to be his bride ! 

Within this lonely hermitage 

There is a chapel meet ; 
Then grant, dear maid, my fond request, 

And make my bliss complete. 



THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 

O Henry, when thou deig:n'st to sue. 

Can I thy suit withstand ? 
When thou, loved youth, hast won my heart, 

Can I refuse my hand ? 

For thee I left a father's smiles 

And mother's tender care ; 
And whether weal or wo betide, 

Thy lot I mean to share. 

And wilt thou, then, O g-enerous maid, 

Such matchless favour show, 
To share with me, a banished wight, 

My peril, pain, or wo ? 

Now Heaven, I trust, hath joys in store 

To crown thy constant breast ; 
For, know, fond hope assures my heart 

That we shall soon be blest. 

Not far from hence stands Coquet Isle, 

Surrounded by the sea ; 
There dwells a holy friar, well known 

To all thy friends and thee : * 

Tis Father Bertram, so revered 

For every worthy deed : 
To Raby Castle he shall g'o. 

And for us kindly plead. 

To fetch this g-ood and holy man 

Our reverend host is g-one ; 
And soon, I trust, his pious hands 

Will join us both in one. 

Thus they in sweet and tender talk 

The ling-ering" hours beguile : 
At length they see the hoary sage 

Come from the neighbouring isle. 

With pious joy and wonder mixed 

He greets the noble pair, 
And glad consents to join their hands 

With many a fervent prayer. 

Then straig'ht to Raby's distant walls 

He kindly wends his way ; 
Meantime in love and dalliance sweet 

They spend the hvelong day. 

♦ In the little island of Coquet, near "Warkworth, are still seen the niina of a cell 
thich belonged to the Benedictine monks of Tinemouth Abbey. 



THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 

And now, attended by their host, 

The hermitage they viewed. 
Deep-hewn within a craggy clift, 

And overhung with wood. 

And near a flight of shapely steps, 

All cut with nicest skill, 
And piercing through a stony arch, 

Ran winding up the hill. 

There, decked with many a flower and herb. 

His little garden stands ; 
With fruitful trees in shady rows, 

All planted by his hands. 

Then, scooped within the solid rock, 

Three sacred vaults he shows : 
The chief a chapel, neatly arched, 

On branching columns rose. 

Each proper ornament was there 

That should a chapel grace : 
The lattice for confession framed, 

And holy-water vase. 

O'er either door a sacred text 

Invites to godly fear ; 
And in a little scutcheon hung 

The cross, and crown, and spear. 

Up to the altar's ample breadth 

TWO easy steps ascend ; 
And near, a glimmering solemn light 

Two well-wrought windows lend. 

Beside the altar rose a tomb, 

All in the living stone. 
On which a yoimg and beauteous maid 

In goodly sculpture shone. 

A kneeling angel, fairly carved. 

Leaned hovering o'er her breast ; 
A weeping warrior at her feet ; 

And near to these her crest.* 

The cliff", the vault, but chief the tomb, 

Attract the wondering pair : 
Eager they ask. What hapless dame 

Lies sculptured here so fair ? 

* This is a bull's head, the crest of the Widdrington family. All the figures, &c 
here described are still visible, only sonfewhat effaced with length of time. 
8 



THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 

Tlie hermit sig'hed, the hermit wept, 
For sorrow scarce could speak ; 

At length he wiped the trickling* tears 
That all bedewed his cheek : 

Alas ! my children, human life 

Is but a vale of wo ; 
And very mournful is the tale 

Which ye so fain would know. 



Youn^" lord, thy grandsire had a friend 

In days of youthful fame ; 
Yon distant hills were his domains ; 

Sir Bertram was his name. 

Where'er the noble Percy fought, 

His friend was at his side ; 
And many a skirmish with the Scots 

Their early valour tried. 

Young Bertram loved a beauteous maid, 

As fair as fair might be ; 
The dew-drop on the lily's cheek 

Was not so fair as she. 

Fair W^iddrington the maiden's name, 
Yon towers her dwelling-place ; * 

Her sire an old Northumbrian chief, 
Devoted to thy race. 

IMany a lord, and many a knight, 

To this fair damsel came ; 
But Bertram was her only choice ; 

For him she felt a flame. 

Lord Percy pleaded for his friend ; 

Her father soon consents ; 
None but the beauteous maid herself 

His wishes now prevents. 

But she with studied fond delays 

Defers the blissful hour, 
And loves to try his constancy, 

And prove her maiden power. 

That heart, she snid, is lightly prized 

Which is so lightlj'" won, 
And long shall rue that easy maid. 

Who yields her love too soon. 

* Wjdilrington Castle is about five miles south of Warkworth. 
3 9 



THE HERMIT OP WARKWORTH. 

Lord Percy made a solemn feast 

In Alnwick's princely hall, 
And there came lords, and there came knights, 

His chiefs and barons all. 

With wassail, mirth, and revelry, 

The castle rung* around : 
Lord Percy called for song and harp, 

And pipes of martial sound. 

The minstrels of thy noble house, 

All clad in robes of blue, 
With silver crescents on their arms. 

Attend in order due. 

The great achievements of thy race 
They sung : their high command : 

^' How valiant Mainfred o'er the seas 
First led his northern band." 

Brave Galfred next to Normandy 

With venturous RoUo came ; 
And from his Norman castles won, 

Assumed the Percy name.t 

They sung how in the conqueror's fleet 

Lord William shipped his powers. 
And gained a fair young Saxon bride 

With all her lands and towers. ^ 

Then journeying to the Holy Land, 

There bravely fought and died : 
But first the silver crescent wan, 

Some Paynim Soldan's pride. 

They sung how Agnes, beauteous heir. 

The queen's own brother wed, 
Lord Josceline, sprung' from Charlemagne, 

In princely Brabant bred.§ 

* See Dugdale's Baronage, p. 269, &c. 

t In Lower Normandy are three places of the name of Percy ; ■whence the family 
took the surname De Percy. 

^ WiUiam De Percy (fifth in descent from Galfred, or Geffrey De Percy, son of 
Mainfred) assisted in the conquest of England, and had given him the large posses- 
sions in Yorkshire of Emma De Porte (so the Norman writers name her), whose 
father, a gi-eat Saxon lord, had been slain fighting along with Harold. This young 
lady, William, from a principle of honour and generosity, married ; for having had 
all her lands bestowed upon him by the conqtieror, " he (to use the words of the old 
Whitby Chronicle) wedded hyr that was verj' heire to them, in discharging of his 
conscience." See Harleian Manuscripts, 692 (26). He died at Moimtjoji, near Jeru- 
salem, in the first crusade. 

§ Agnes De Percy, sole heiressof her house, married Josceline DcLovain, youiigest 
son of Godfrey Barbatus, Duke of Brabant, and brother to Queen Adeliza, Second 
10 



THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 

How he the Percy name revived, 

And how his noble line 
Still foremost in their country's cause 

With godlike ardour shine." 

"With loud acclaims the listening" crowd 

Applaud the mnster's song", 
And deeds of arms and Avar became 

The theme of e\evj tong-ue. 

Now high heroic acts they tell, 

Their perils past recall : 
When lo ! a damsel young and fair 

Stepped forward through the hall. 

She Bertram courteously addressed ; , 

And kneeling on her knee — 
Sir knight, the lady of thy love 

Hath sent this gift to thee. 

Then forth she drew a glittering helme, 

Well-plated many a fold, 
The casque was wrought of tempered steel, 

TJae crest of burnished gold. 

Sir knight, thy lady sends thee this. 

And yields to be thj bride. 
When thou hast proved this maiden gift 

Where sharpest blows are tried. 

Young Bertram took the shining helme, 

And thrice he kissed the same : 
Trust me, I'll prove this precious casque 

With deeds of noblest fame. 

Lord Percy and his barons bold 

Then fix upon a day 
To scour the marches, late oppressed, 

And Scottish wrongs repay. 

The knights assembled on the hills, 

A thousand horse and more : 
Brave Widdrington, though sunk in years, 

The Percy standard bore. 

Tweed's limpid current soon they pass. 

And range the borders round : 
Down the green slopes of Teviotdale 

Their bugle-horns resound. 

wife of King Henrj' I. He took the name of Percy, and was anccbtor of the Earls of 
Northumberland. His son, Lord Richard De Percy, was one of the twenty-five 
barons chosen to sec the Magna Cliarta duly observed. 

11 



THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 

As when a lion in liis den 

Hath heard the hunter's cries, 

And rushing forth to meet his foes, 
So did the Doug-las rise. 

Attendant on their chief's command 

A thousand warriors wait : 
And now the fatal hour drew on 

Of cruel keen debate. 

A chosen troop of Scottish youths 

Advance before the rest ; 
Lord Percy marked their g-allant mien, 

And thus his friend addressed. 

Now, Bertram, prove thy lady's helme, 

Attack yon forward band ; 
Dead or alive I'll rescue thee, 

Or perish by their hand. 

Young" Bertram bowed, with g-lad assent, 
And spurred his eager steed, 

-And calling on his lady's name. 

Rushed forth with whirlwind speed. 

As when a grove of sapling oaks 

The livid lightning rends. 
So fiercely 'mid the opposing ranks 

Sir Bertram's sword descends. 

This way and that he drives the steel, 
And keenly pierces through ; 

And many a tall and comely knight 
With furious force he slew. 

Now closing fast on every side. 
They hem Sir Bertram round ; 

But dauntless he repels their rag'e. 
And deals forth many a wound. 

The vigour of his single arm 
Had well-nigh won the field, 

When ponderous fell a Scottish axe, 
And clove his lifted shield. 

Another blov/ his temples took, 
And reft his helme in twain — 

That beauteous helme, his lady's gift! — . 
His blood bedewed the plain. ' 

Lord Percy saw his champion fall 

Amid the unequal tight ; 
And now, my noble friends, he said, 

Let's save this gallant knight. 

\2 



THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 

Then rushing" in, with stretched-out shield 
He o'er the warrior hung', 

As some tierce eagle spreads her wing- 
To g'uard her callow young*. 

Three times they strove to seize their prey. 

Three times they quick retire : 
What force could stand his furious strokes,. 

Or meet his martial fire ? 

Now, gathering round on every part. 

The battle raged amain ; 
And many a lady wept her lord. 

That hour untimely slain. 

Percy and Douglas, g-reat in arms. 

There all their courage showed ; 
And all the field was strewed with dead. 

And all with crimson flowed. 

At length the glory of the day 

The Scots reluctant yield. 
And, after wondrous valour shown, 

They slowly quit the field. 

All pale, extended on their shields. 

And weltering' in his g'ore, 
Lord Percy's knights their bleeding- friend 

To Wark's fair castle bore.* 

Well hast thou earned my daughter's love, 

Her father kindly said ; 
And she herself shall dress thy wounds, 

And tend thee in thy bed. 

A message went, no daughter came; 

Fair Isabel ne'er appears ; 
Beshrew me, said the aged chief, 

Young maidens have their fears. 

Cheer up, my son, thou shalt her see 

So soon as thou canst ride, 
And she shall nurse thee in her bower, 

And she shall be thy bride. 

Sir Bertram at her name revived ; 

He blessed the soothing sound ; 
Fond hope supplied the nurse's care. 

And healed his ghastly wound. 

♦ Wark Castle, a fortress belonging to the English, and of great note in ancient 
times, stood on the southern bank of the river Tweed, a little to the east of Teviot- 
dale, and not Tar from Kelso. It is now entirely destroyed. 

13 



THE HERMIT OF WASKYv'OBTH. 



PIT III. 

One early morn, while dewy drops 

Hung trembling- on the tree, 
Sir Bertram from his sick-bed rose, 

His bride he would go see. 

A brother he had in prime of youth, 

Of courage firm and keen, 
And he would tend him on the way, 

Because his wounds were green. 

All day o'er moss and moor they rode. 

By many a lonely tower ; 
And 'twas the dew-fall of the night 

Ere they drew near her bower. 

Most drear and dark the castle seemed, 
That wont to shine so bright ; 

And long and loud Sir Bertram called 
Ere he beheld a light. 

At length her aged nurse arose, 
With voice so shrill and clear : 

What wight is this that calls so loud, 
And knocks so boldly here 1 

'Tis Bertram calls, thy lady's love. 

Come from his bed of care : 
All day I've ridden o'er moor and moss, 

To see thy lady fair. 

Now out, alas ! (she loudly shrieked) 

Alas ! how may this be ? 
For six long days are gone and past 

Since she set out to thee. 

Sad terror seized Sir. Bertram's heart. 

And oft he deeply sighed ; 
When now the drawbridge was let down, 

And gates set open wide. 

Six days, young knight, are past and gone 

Since she set out to thee, 
And sure, if no sad harm had hap'd. 

Long since thou wouldst her see. 

For when she heard thy grievous chance. 
She tore her hair, and cried, 

Alas! I've slain the comeliest knight . , 
All through my folly and pride I 

14 



THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 

And now to atone for my sad fault, 

And his dear health regain, 
I'll go myself, and nurse my love, 

And soothe his bed of pain. 

Then mounted she her milk-white steed 

One morn by break of day, 
And two tall yeomen went with her 

To guard her on the way. 

Sad terror smote Sir Bertram's heart, 
And grief overwhelmed his mind : 

Trust me, said he, I ne'er will rest 
Till I thy lady find. 

That night he spent in sorrow and care ; 

And with sad boding heart. 
Or e'er the dawning of the day, 

His brother and he depart. 

Now, brother, we'll our ways divide, 
O'er Scottish hills to range 5 

Do thou go north, and I'll go west, 
And all our dress we'U change. 

Some Scottish carle hath seized my love 

And borne her to his den, 
And ne'er will I tread English ground 

Till she's restored again. 

The brothers straig-ht their paths divide, 
O'er Scottish hills to range ; 

And hide themselves in quaint disguise, 
And oft their dress they change. 

Sir Bertram, clad in gown of gray, 

Most like a palmer poor. 
To halls and castles wanders round, 

And beg-s from door to door. 



"D 



Sometimes a minstrel's garb he wears, 

With pipes so sweet and shriU ; 
And wends to every tower and town, 

O'er every dale and hill. 

One day as he sat under a thorn, 

All sunk in deep despair. 
An aged pilgrim passed him by, 

Who marked his face of care. 

All minstrels yet that e'er I saw, 

Are full of game and glee, 
But thou art sad and wo-begone; 

I marvel whence it be ! 

15 



THE HERMIT OF ^VAIlK^YORTH. 

Father, I serve an aged lord, 
Whose gTief afflicts my mind ; 

His only child is stolen away, 
And fain I would her find. 

Cheer up, my son ; perchance (he said) 

Some tidings I may bear ; 
For oft when human hopes have failed, 

Then heavenly comfort's near. 

Behind yon hills, so steep and high, 

Down in the lowly glen. 
There stands a castle fair and strong, 

Far from the abode of men. 

As late I chanced to crave an alms, 

About this evening hour, 
Methought I heard a lady's voice 

Lamenting in the tower. 

And when I asked what harm had hap'd, 

What lady sick there lay ? 
They rudely drove me from the gate. 

And bade me wend away. 

These tidings caught Sir Bertram's ear ; 

He thanked him for his tale ; 
And soon he hasted o'er the hills. 

And soon he reached the vale. 

Then drawing near those lonely towers, 

Which stood in dale so low. 
And sitting down beside the gate, 

His pipes he 'gan to blow. 

Sir porter, is thy lord at home 

To hear a minstrel's song ? 
Or may I crave a lodging here. 

Without offence or wrong ? 

My lord, he said, is not at home 

To hear a minstrel's song ; 
And should I lend thee lodging here, 

My life would not be long. 

He played again so soft a strain. 
Such power sweet sounds impart, 

He won the churlish porter's ear. 
And moved his stubborn heart. 

Minstrel, he said, thou play'st so sweet. 
Fair entrance thou shouldst win ; 

But, alas ! I'm sworn upon the rood 
To let no stranger in. 



1(1 



THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 

Yet, minstrel, in yon rising* cliff 

Thou'lt find a sheltering cave ; 
And here thou shalt my supper share, 

And there thy lodging- have. 

All day he sits beside the gate, 

And pipes both loud and clear : 
All night he watches round the walls, 

In hopes his love to hear. 

The first night, as he silent watched, 

All at the midnight hour. 
He plainly heard his lady's voice 

Lamenting in the tower. 

The second night the moon shone clear. 

And gilt the spangled dew ; 
He saw his lady through the grate, 

But 'twas a transient view. 

The third night, wearied out, he slept 

Till near the morning tide. 
When, starting up, he seized his sword, 

And to the castle hied, • 

When lo ! he saw a ladder of ropes 

Depending from the wall ; 
And o'er the moat was newly laid 

A poplar strong and tall. 

And soon he saw his love descend. 

Wrapt in a tartan plaid, 
Assisted by a sturdy youth. 

In Highland garb y-clad. 

Amazed, confounded at the sight, 

He lay unseen and still ; 
And soon he saw them cross the stream. 

And mount the neighbouring hill. 

Unheard, unknown to all within, 

The youthful couple fly ; 
But what can 'scape the lover's ken, 

Or shun his piercing eye ? 

With silent step he follows close 

Behind the nying pair. 
And saw her hang upon his arm 

With fond familiar air. 

Thanks, gentle youth, she often said ; 

My thanks thou well hast won : 
For me what wiles hast thou contrived ! 

For me what dangers run ! 

17 



THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 

And ever shall my grateful heart 

Thy services repay : 
Sir Bertram would no further hear, 

But cried; Vile traitor, stay ! 

Vile traitor ! yield that lady up ! 

And quick his sword he drew : 
The stranger turned in sudden rage, 

And at Sir Bertram flew. 

With mortal hate their vig'rous arms 
Gave many a vengeful blow : 

But Bertram's stronger hand prevailed, 
And laid the stranger low. 

Die, traitor, die ! A deadly thrust 

Attends each furious word ; 
Ah ! then fair Isabel knew his voice, 

And rushed beneath his sword. 

Oh stop, she cried ; oh stop thy arm ! 

Thou dost thy brother slay ! 
And here the hermit paused and wept : 

His tongue no more could say. 

At length he cried, Ye lovely pair, 

How shall I tell the rest '? 
Ere I could stop my piercing sword, 

It fell, and stabbed her breast. 

Wert thou thyself that hapless youth ? 

Ah ! cruel fate ! they said. 
The hermit wept, and so did they : 

They sighed ; he hung his head. 

Oh blind and jealous rage, he cried. 

What evils from thee flow ? 
The hermit paused ; they silent moui'ned j 

He wept, and they were wo. 

Ah 1 when I heard my brother's name, 

And saw my lady bleed, 
I raved, I wept, I cursed my arm. 

That wrought the fatal deed. 



*& 



In vain I clasped her to my breast, 
And closed the ghastly wound ; 

In vain I pressed his bleeding corpse. 
And raised it from the ground. 

My brother, alas ! spake ne'er more.; 

His precious life was flown ; 
She kindly strove to soothe my pain, 

Regardless of her own. 

18 



THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 

Bertram, she said, be comforted, 

And live to think on me : 
May we in heaven that union prove, 

Which here was not to be. 

Bertram, she said, I still was true ; 

Thou only hadst my heart : 
May we hereafter meet in bliss ! 

We now, alas ! must part. 

For thee I left my father's hall, 

And flew to thy relief; 
When, lo ! near Cheviot's fatal hills 

I met a Scottish chief: 

Lord Malcolm's son, whose proffered love 

I had refused with scorn ; 
He slew my g-uards, and seized on me 
jUpon that fatal morn. 

And in these dreary hated walls 

He kept me close confined, 
And fondly sued and warmly pressed 

To win me to his mind. 

Each rising- morn increased my pain. 

Each night increased my fear ; 
AVhen wandering in this northern garb, 

Thy brother found me here. 

He quickly formed his brave desigTi 

To set me captive free ; 
And on the moor his horses wait, 

Tied to a neighboui-ing" tree. 

Then haste, my love, escape away. 

And for thyself provide, 
And sometimes fondly think on her 

Who should have been thy bride. 

Thus pouring comfort on my soul 

Even with her latest breath, 
She gave one parting fond embrace, 

And closed her eyes in death. 

In wild amaze, in speechless wo, 

Devoid of sense 1 lay : 
Then sudden all in frantic mood 

I meant myself to slay. 

19 



THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 

And rising- up in furious haste, 

I seized the bloody brand ; 
A sturdy arm here interposed, 

And wrenched it from my liand. 

A crowd, that from the castle came. 
Had missed their lovely ward. 

And seizing me, to prison bare, 
And deep in dungeon barred. 

It chanced that on that very morn 
Their chief was prisoner ta'en : 

Lord Percy had us soon exchanged, 
And strove to soothe my pain. 

And soon those honoured dear remains 
To England were conveyed, 

And there within their silent tombs 
With holy rites were laid. 

For me, I loathed my wretched life, 
And long" to end it thought ; 

Till time, and books, and holy men. 
Had better counsels tausrht. 



o 



They raised my heart to that pure source 
Whence heavenly comfort flows : 

They taught me to despise the world, 
And calmly bear its woes. 

No more the slave of human pride, 
Vain hope, and sordid care, 

I meekly vowed to spend my life 
In penitence and prayer. 

The bold Sir Bertram now no more 

Impetuous, haughtj'', wild, 
But poor and humble benedict. 

Now lowly, patient, mild. 

My lands I g-ave to feed the poor, 

And sacred altars raise. 
And here, a lonely anchoret, 

I came to end my days. 

This sweet sequestered vale I chose. 
These rocks and hanging grove ; 

For oft beside that murmuring* stream 
My love was wont to rove. 

20 



THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 

My noble friend approved my choice ; 

This blest retreat he g-ave ; 
And here I carved her beauteous form, 

And scooped this holy cave. 

Full fifty winters, all forlorn, 

My life I've ling-ered here ; 
And daily o'er this sculptured saint 

I drop the pensive tear. 

And thou, dear brother of my heart, 

So faithful and so true. 
The sad remembrance of thy fate 

Still makes my bosom rue ! 

Yet not unpitied j)assed my life, 

Forsaken, or forgot. 
The Percy and his noble son 

Would grace my lowly cot. 

Oft the great earl, from toils of state 

And cumbrous pomp of power, 
Would gladly seek my little cell 

To spend the tranquil hour. 

But length of life is length of wo ; 

I lived to mourn his fall : 
I lived to mourn his godlike son, 

Their friends and followers all. 

But thou the honours of thy race, 

Loved youth, shalt now restore, 
And raise again the Percy name 

More glorious than before. 

He ceased, and on the lovely pair 

His choicest blessings laid. 
While they with thanks and pitying tears 

His mournful tale repaid. 

And now what present course to take, 

They ask the good old sire, 
And, guided by his sage advice, 

To Scotland they retire. 

Meantime their suit such favour found 

At Raby's stately hall, 
.Earl Neville and his princely spouse 

Now gladly pardon all. 

21 



EDWIN AND ANGELINA. 

She, suppliant at her nephew's throne, 

The royal grace implored : 
To all the honours pf his race 

The Percy was restored. 

The youthful earl still more and more 
Admired his beauteous dame : 

Nine noble sons to him she bore, 
All worthy of their name.* 



EDWIN AND ANGELINA. 

BY OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

" Turn, g-entle hermit of the dale. 

And guide my lonely way. 
To where yon taper cheers the vale 

With hospitable ray. 

For here forlorn and lost I tread, 

With fainting steps and slow ; 
Where wilds immeasurably spread, 

Seem leng-thening" as I go." 

" Forbear, my son," the hermit cries, 

" To tempt the dangerous gioom ; 
For yonder faithless phantom flies 

To lure thee to thy doom. 

* Warkworth Castle, the scene of the above ballad, occupies a bold 
situation on a neck of land near the sea-shore, on the coast of Northum- 
berland, and almost surrounded by the river Coquet. About a mile from 
the castle, in a deep romantic valley, are the remains of an hermitage, or 
religious establishment, of which the chapel is still entire. This is 
hollowed in a cliff near the river, as are also two adjoining apartments, 
which probably served for the sacristy and vestry — the whole executed 
with elegance, and resembling a Gothic church. The chapel contains a 
tomb or monument, on which is a female figure cut in stone, and around 
it are several other figTires likewise sculptured from the rock. It is uni- 
versally agreed that the founder of the hermitage was one of the Bertram 
family, which had once considerable possessions in Northumberland, and 
were anciently lords of Bothal Castle, situated about ten miles from 
Warkworth. The traditions respecting Warkworth and its hermitage did 
not escape the notice of the late Dr Thomas Percy, dean of Carlisle and 
bishop of Dromore, and have been by him handed down to us in the pre- 
ceding elegant ballad, which has become deservedly popular in the part 
of the country to which it refers. The only other poem of any length 
written by Dr Percy is a ballad called the Friar of Orders Gray. The 
service he performed to our literature in collecting his " ReUques of Eng- 
lish Poetry," has been properly esteemed. 
22 



EDWrnr AND ANGELINA. 

Here to the houseless child of want 

My door is open still ; 
And thoiig'h my portion is but scant, 

I give it with good-will. 

Then turn to-nig-ht, and freely share 

"VVTiate'er my cell bestows ; 
My rush}'' couch and frugal fare, 

My blessing and repose. 

No flocks that range the valley free, 

To slaughter I condemn ; 
Taught by that power that pities me, 

I learn to pity them. 

But from the mountain's grassy side 

A guiltless feast I bring- ; 
A scrip with herbs and fi'uits supplied, 

And water from the spring. 

Then, pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego, 

All earth-born cares are wrong ; 
Man wants but little here below. 

Nor wants that little long"." 

Soft as the dew from heaven descends, 

His gentle accents fell ! 
The modest stranger lowly bends. 

And follows to the cell. 

Far in a wilderness obscure 

The lonely mansion lay ; 
A refuge to the neighbouring poor, 

And strangers led astray. 

No stores beneath its humble thatch 

Required a master's care ; 
The wicket opening with a latch. 

Received the harmless pair. 

And now, when busy crowds retire 

To take their evening rest, 
The hermit trimmed his little fire, 

And cheered his pensive guest ! 

And .spread his vegetable store, 

And gaily pressed and smiled; 
And, skilled in legendaiy lore, 

The lingering hours besruiled. 

23 



EDWIN AND ANGELINA. 

Around in sympatlietic mirth. 

Its tricks the kitten tries ; 
The cricket chirrups in the hearth ; 

The crackling" faggot flies. 

But nothing could a charm impart 

To soothe the stranger's vro ; 
For grief was heavy at his heart, 

And tears began to flow. 

His rising cares the hermit spied, 
With answering' care opprest : 

" And whence, unhappy Touth," he cried, 
" The sorrows of thy breast ? 

From better habitations spurned, 

Keluctant dost thou rove ; 
Or grieve for friendship unretm*ned. 

Or unregarded love ? 

Alas ! the joys that fortune bring-s 

Are triflinsr, and decav : 
And those who prize the paltry things, 

INIore trifling still than they. 

And what is friendship but a name, 

A charm that lulls to sleep, 
A shade that follows wealth or fame. 

And leaves the wretch to weep ? 

And love is still an emptier sound, 

The modern fair one's jest ; 
On earth unseen, or only found 

To warm the turtle's nest. 

For shame, fond youth, thy sorrows hush. 

And spurn the sex," he said : 
But while he spoke, a rising blush 

His love-lorn guest betrayed. 

Surprised, he sees new beauties rise. 

Swift mantling to the view ; 
Like colours o'er the morning skies, 

As bright, as transient too. 

The bashful look, the rising breast, 

Ahernate spread alarms : 
The lovely stranger stands confest 

A maid in all her charms. 



EDWIN AND ANGELINA. 

" And ah, forg'ive a strang-er rude, 

A wretch forlorn," she cried ; 
" AVhose feet unhallowed thus intrude 

Where heaven and you reside. 

But let a maid thy pity share, 

Whom love has taug-ht to stray ; 
Who seeks for rest, but finds despair 

Companion of her way. 

My father lived beside the Tyne, 

A wealthy lord was he ; 
And all his wealth was marked as mine — 

He had but only me. 

To win me from his tender arms, 

Unnumbered suitors came. 
Who praised me for imputed charms, 

And felt, or feig-ned a flame. 

Each hour a mercenary crowd 

With richest proffers strove ; 
Among the rest young* Edwin bowed, 

But never talked of love. 

In humble, simplest habit clad. 

No wealth or power had he ; 
Wisdom and worth were all he had, 

But these were all to me. 

The blossom opening' to the day. 

The dews of heaven refined. 
Could noug-ht of purity display. 

To emulate his mind. 

The dew, the blossoms of the tree. 

With charms inconstant shine ; 
Their charms were his, but wo to me, 

Their constancy was mine. 

For still I tried each fickle art. 

Importunate and vain ; 
And while his passion touched my heart, 

I triumphed in his pain. 

Till quite dejected with my scorn, 

He left me to my pride, 
And soug-ht a solitude forlorn 

In secret, where he died. 

25 



SIR AGILTHORN. 

But mine the sorrow, mine the fault, 
And well my life shall pay ; 

I'll seek the solitude he soug-ht, 
And stretch me where he lay. 

And there forlorn, despairing hid, 
I'll lay me down and die ; 

'Twas so for me that Edwin did, 
And so for him will I." 



" Forhid it, heaven ! " the hermit cried, 
And clasped her to his breast : 

The wondering" fair one turned to chide- 
'Twas Edwin's self that prest. 

" Turn, Ang-elina, ever dear ! 

My charmer, turn to see 
Thy own, thy long"-lost Edwin here, 

Restored to love and thee ! 



Thus let me hold thee to my heart, 

And every care resign ; 
And shall we never, never part. 

My life — my all that's mine ! 

No, never from this hour to part, 

We'll live and love so true ; 
The sig;h that rends thy constant heart. 

Shall break thy Edwin's too." 



SIR AGILTHORN. 

BT M. G. LEWIS. 

Oh ! g-entle huntsman, softly tread. 
And softly wind thy bug-le-horn ; 

Nor rudely break the silence shed 
Around the g-rave of Ag'ilthom ! 

Oh ! g-entle huntsman, if a tear 
E'er dimmed for others' wo thine eyes, 

Thou'lt surely dew, with drops sincere, 
The sod where Lady Eva lies, 

26 



SIR AGILTHORN. 

Yon crumbling chapel's sainted bound 

Their hands and hearts beheld them plight ; 

Long- held yon towers, with ivy crowned, 
The beauteous dame and gallant knight. 

Alas ! the hour of bliss is past, 

For hark ! the din of discord rings ; 

War's clarion sounds, joy hears the blast, 
And trembling plies his radiant wings. 

And must sad Eva lose her lord ? 

And must he seek the martial plain ? 
Oh ! see, she brings his casque and sword ! 

Oh ! hark, she pours her plaintive strain ! 

'^ Blest is the village damsel's fate, 
Though poor and low her station be ; 

Safe from the cares which haunt the great, 
Safe from the cares which torture me ! 



No doubting fear, no cruel pain, 

No dread suspense her breast alanns j 

No tyrant honour rules her swain, 
And tears him from her folding arms. 

She, careless wandering 'midst the rocks, 
In pleasing toil consumes the day ; 

And tends her goats, or feeds her flocks, 
Or joins her rustic lover's lay. 

Though hai'd her couch, each sorrow flies 
The pillow which supports her head ; 

She sleeps, nor fears at morn her eyes 
Shall wake to mourn a husband dead. 



Hush, impious fears ! the ffood and brave 
Heaven^s arm will guara from danger free ; 

When death with thousands gluts the grave, 
His dart, my love, shall glance from thee : 

While thine shall fly direct and sure. 

This buckler every blow repel ; 
This casque from wounds that face secure. 

Where all the loves and graces dwell. 

27 



SIR AGILTHORlS^ 

This glittering scarf, with tenderest care, 
My hands in happier moments wove ; 

Curst be the WTetch whose sword shall tear 
The spell-bound work of wedded love ! 

Lo ! on thy falchion, keen and bright, 
I shed a trembling consort's tears ; 

Oh ! when their traces meet thy sight, 
Remember wretched Eva's fears. 



Think how thy lips she fondly prest ; 

Think how she wept, compelled to part ; 
Think every wound which scars thy breast, 

Is doubly marked on Eva's heart ! " 

" Oh thou ! my mistress, wife, and friend ! " 
Thus Agilthorn with sighs began ; 

'' Thy fond complaints my bosom rend, 
Thy tears my fainting soul* unman : 

In pity cease, my gentle dame, 

Such sweetness and such grief to join ! 

Lest I forget the voice of fame, 
And only list to love's and thine. 

Flow, flow, my tears, unbounded gush ! 

Rise, rise, my sobs ! I set ye free ; 
Bleed, bleed, my heart ! I need not blush 

To own that life is dear to me. 



The wretch whose lips have pressed the bowl, 
The bitter bowl of pain and wo, 

May careless reach his mortal goal. 
May boldly meet the final blow : 

His hopes destroyed, his comfort M^'ecked, 
A happier life he hopes to find ; 

But what can I in heaven expect. 
Beyond the bliss I leave behind ? 

Oh no ! the joys of yonder skies 

To prosperous love presents no charms ; 

My heaven is placed in Eva's eyes. 
My paradise in Eva's arms. 

28 



SIR AGILTIIORN. 

Yet mark me, sweet ! if Heaven's command 
Hath doomed my fall in martial strife, 

Oh ! let not ang-uish tempt thy hand 
To rashly break the thread of life ! 

No ! let our boy thy care engross, 

Let him thy stay, thy comfort be ; 
Supply his luckless father's loss, 

And love him for thyself and me. 

So may oblivion soon eiface 

The g-rief which clouds this fatal morn ; 
And soon thy cheeks aiford no trace 

Of tears which fall for Ag-ilthorn ! " 

He said, and couched his quivering" lance ; 

He said, and braced his moony shield j 
Sealed a last kiss, threw a last g-lance. 

Then spurred his steed to Flodden Field. 

But Eva, of all joy bereft, 

Stood rooted at the castle gate. 
And viewed the prints his courser left, 

While hurrying at the call of fate. 

Foreboding's sad her bosom told, 

The steed which bore him thence so light, 

Her longing eyes would ne'er behold 
Again bring home her own true knight. 

While many a sigh her bosom heaves, 

She thus addressed her orphan page : 
" Dear youth, if e'er my love relieved 

The sorrows of thy infant age ; 

If e*er I taught thy locks to play. 

Luxuriant, round thy blooming face ; 
If e'er I wiped thy tears away. 

And bade them yield to smiles their place ; 

Oh ! speed thee, swift as steed can bear, 
Where Flodden groans with heaps of dead, 

And, o'er the combat, home repair 
And tell me how my lord has sped. 

29 



SIR AGILTHORN. 

Till thou return'st, each hour's an age, 
An age employed in doubt and pain ; 

Oh ! haste thee, haste, mj little foot-page^ 
Oh ! haste, and soon return again." 

" Now, lady dear, thy grief assuage ! 

Good tidings soon shall ease thy pain : 
I'll haste, I'll haste, thy little foot-page, 

I'll haste and soon return again." 

Then Oswy bade his courser fly ; 

But still, while hapless Eva wept, 
Time scarcely seemed his wings to ply, 

So slow the tedious moments crept. 

And oft she kissed her baby's cheek, 

Who slumbered on her throbbing breast ; 

And now she bade the warder speak. 
And now she lulled her child to rest. 



" Good warder, say, what meets thy sight ? 

What see'st thou from the castle tower ? " 
" Nought but the rocks of Elginbright, 

Nought but the shades of Forest Bower." 

" Oh ! pretty babe ! thy mother's joy, 
Pledge of the purest fondest flame, 

To-morrow's sun, dear helpless boy, 
Must see thee bear an orphan's name ! 

Perhaps, e'en now, some Scottish sword 
The life-blood of thy father drains ; 

Perhaps, e'en now, that heart is gored. 
Whose streams supplied thy little veins. 

Oh ! warder, from the castle tower 

Now say what objects meet thy sight?" 

" None but the shades of Forest Bower, 
None but the rocks of Elginbright." 

" Smil'st thou, my babe ? so smiled thy sire, 
When gazing on his Eva's face ,* 

His eyes shot beams of gentle fire. 
And joyed such beams in mine to trace, 

30 



SIR AGILTHORN. 



Sleep, sleep, my babe ! of care devoid ; 

Thy mother breathes this fervent vow- 
Oh ! never be thy soul employed 

On thouo'hts so sad as hers are now ! 



*o" 



Now warder, warder, speak ag'ain, 

What see'st thou from the turret's height?" 

" Oh ! lady, speeding" o'er the plain. 
The little foot-pag-e appears in sig'ht." 

Quick beat her heart, short g-rew her breath, 
Close to her breast the babe she drew — 

"Now, Heaven," she cried, " for life or death !'^ 
And forth to meet the pag-e she flew. 

"And is thy lord from dang-er free? 

And is the deadly combat o'er?" 
In silence Oswy bent his knee. 

And laid a scarf her feet before. 

The well-known scarf with blood was stained, 

And tears from Oswy's eyelids fell ; 
Too truly Eva's heart explained 

What meant those silent tears to tell, 

" Come, come, my babe ! " she wildly cried, 
" We needs must seek the held of wo ; 

Come, come, my babe ! cast fear aside ! 
To dig- thy father's grave we go." 

'^ Stay, lady, stay ! a storm impends ; 

Lo ! threatening" clouds the sky o'erspread ; 
The thunder roars, the rain descends. 

And lightning' streaks the heavens with red. 

Hark, hark ! the winds tempestuous rave ! 

Oh ! be thy dread intent resigned I 
Or, if resolved the storm to brave, 

Be this dear infant left behind ! " 

" No, no ! with me my baby stays ; 

With me he lives, with me he dies ! 
Flash, lightnings, flash ! your friendly blaze 

Will show me where my warrior lies." 

Oh ! see, she roams the bloody field, 

And wildly shrieks her husband's name ; 

Oh ! see, she stops and eyes a shield, 
A heart the symbol, wrapt in flame. 

31 



SIR AGILTHORN. 

His armour broke in many a place, 

A knight lay stretched that shield beside ; 

She raised his visor, kissed his face, 
Then on his bosom sunk, and died. 

Huntsman, their rustic grave behold : 
'Tis here, at night, the fairy king', 

Where sleeps the fair, where sleeps the bold, 
Oft forms his light fantastic ring. 

'Tis here, at eve, each village youth 
With freshest flowers the turf adorns ; 

'Tis here he swears eternal truth. 
By Eva's faith and Agilthorn's. 

And here the virgins sadly tell, 
Each seated by her shepherd's side. 

How brave the gallant warrior fell, 
How true his lovely lady died. 

Ah ! gentle huntsman, pitying hear, 
And mourn the gentle lover's doom : 

Oh ! g'entle huntsman, drop a tear. 
And dew the turf of Eva's tomb ! 

So ne'er may fate thy hopes oppose ; 

So ne'er may grief to thee be known : 
They who can weep for others' woes. 

Should ne'er have cause to weep their own. 



I 




y,/^-/^ 



CHAMBERS'S 



MISCELLANY 



OF 



USEFUL AND ENTERTAINING KNOWLEDGE. 



EDITED BT 



ROBERT CHAMBERS, 



ACTHOS OF THE CYCLOPEDIA OP ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



VOL. m. 



BOSTON: 

PUBLISHED BY GOULD, KENDALL & LINCOLN, 

69 Washington Stbeet. 



CONTENTS OF VOLUME III. 



No. 

Life of Captain James Cook, . . . . .40 
Anecdotes of the Horse, . . . . . 41 

William of Orange and the Netherlands, . , .42 
Passion and Principle, a Tale from the French, . 43 
Life- Assurance : a Familiar Dialogue, . . .44 

Excursion to the Oregon, ..... 45 
Mrs. Macclarty. Scenes from the ' Cottagers of Glen- 

burnie.' .... ... 46 

The Little Captive King, ...... 47 

Children of the Wilds, 48 

Peter the Wild Boy — Mademoiselle Leblanc — Victor, 
the Savage of Aveyron — Caspar Hauser. 
Select Poems on Love for Flowers, . . .49 

Life of Flora Macdonald, 50 

Cleanliness — Bathing — Ventilation, . . .51 

Anecdotes of the Deaf, Dumb, and Blind, . . 52 

James Mitchell — Laura Bridgman, by Dr. Howe — 

John Metcalf — Miscellaneous Cases. 

Sir Stamford Raffles and the Spice Islands, . . 53 

The Sister of Pembrandt, a Flemish Story, . . 54 

Anecdotes of the Cat, ...... 55 

It's only a Drop, an Irish Tale, By Mrs. S. C. Hall, 56 
Toussaint L'Ouverture and the Republic of Hayti, 57 

Curiosities of Vegetation, 58 

The Ancient Mariner, and other Poems, by Coleridge, 59 




.^^ 



LOVE of maritime enterprise is one of those 
well-known characteristics of British youth, 
which have led to innumerable instances of dar- 
in*** intrei)idity on the seas around our coasts, 
as^ell as the most distant parts of the ocean. 
This quality of mind, to which Britain owes so 
much of her supremacy in the scale of nations, 
x»^ has been seldom more strikin<,^ly manifested than 

in the case of Captain Cook, a man who rose from the humblest 
rank in life, and, after encountering: the difficulties which usually 
lie in the path of a sailor, rose, by dint of good behaviour, intelli- 
gence, and the energ-y of his character, to the highest honours 
of his profession. As an inspiring page in general biography, 
we offer a sketch of the life ot this distinguished individual. 
James Cook was born in a mud hut at Marton, in the north 
No. 40. 1 



LIFE OF CAPTAIN COOK. 

riding of Yorkshire, 27tli October 1728. His father was an 
agricultural servant, ttIio, with his wife, bore a most unexception- 
able character for honesty and industry. The village school- 
mistress taught the boy to read ; but at eight years of age his 
father, thi'ough his good conduct, was appointed to be bailiff of 
a farm near Great Ayton, belonging to Thomas Skottowe, Esq., 
who at his own expense put James to a day-school in that town, 
where he was taught writing and the first rules in arithmetic. 
The predilection of the lad inclined him for the sea ; but as 
this stood contrary to the wishes of his parents, he was soon 
after his twelfth year apprenticed to William Sanderson, a gene- 
ral dealer in haberdashery, grocery, hardware, &c. at Staith, 
upon the coast, about ten miles north of "N^Tiitby. The youth's 
mind, however, continued more occupied upon maritime a:ffairs 
than anything else, and though he faithfully discharged his duty 
to his master, he longed to be at sea.. An opportunity occurred 
to favour his desires. Mr Sanderson cancelled his indentures, 
and left him to pursue his inclinationSi Thus freed, he bound 
himself to Messrs John and Henry Walker, who owned the Free- 
love, in which Cook embarked. She was principally engaged in 
the coal trade, but made a voyage or two to the north ; and when 
his time was out, the youngster still continued to serve as a fore- 
mast-man till he was made mate of one of Mr John Walker's 
ships. During this period he evinced no particular marks of 
genius. His associates, however, were not exactly the class of 
persons to observe the real bent of his mind ; they thouo-ht him 
taciturn, and sometimes sullen ; but this doubtless arose from his 
studious habits, and endeavours to acquire knowledge. As for 
practical seamanship, there could be no better school than a collier. 
"NVhen in his twenty-seventh year, war broke out between 
England and France, and Cook, who was then in the Thames, 
tried to escape the pressg'ang, which was sweeping the river of 
every seaman that could be picked up. This restraint, however, 
did not meet his views ; he looked upon the service of his country 
as honourable, and at once entered for the Eagle, of 60 guns, 
commanded by Captain Hamer, who, a few months afterwards, 
was superseded by Captain (subsequently Sir Hugh) Palliser. 
The young man's steady conduct and seaman-like qualities soon 
attracted this officer's attention. His knowledge of the coasts was 
excellent ; and Mr Skottowe having applied to Mr Osbaldeston, 
M. P. for Scarborough, to exert his influence to raise Cook to 
the quarter-deck, by the joint interest of this gentleman, with 
Captain Palliser, a warrant as master was obtained on 10th 
May 1759, James being then in his thirty-first year. He joined 
the Grampus, but she had a master already ; he was then ap- 
pointed to the Garland, but she was abroad ; and eventually he 
sailed in the Mercury, to join the fleet under Sir Charles Saunders, 
then engaged in conjunction with General Wolfe in the reduction 
of Quebec. Here the peculiar talents of Mr Cook were called 

2 



LIFE OP CAPTAIN COOK. 

into active operation. The buoys in the navigation of the St 
Lawrence haa all been removed by the French at the first ap- 
pearance of the Eng-lish fleet, and it was essentiallj'- necessary 
that a survey should be made of the channels, and correct sound- 
ing's obtained, to enable the ships to keep clear of the numerous 
shoals. By the recommendation of his old commander, Captain 
Palliser, this onerous duty was confided to Mr Cook, who readily 
undertook it in a barg-e belong-ing" to a 74. This could only be 
executed in many parts during the darkness of the nig-ht, on 
account of the enemy ; and he experienced a narrow escape one 
night when detected, his boat having been boarded by Indians 
in the pay of the French, and carried off in triumph, he and 
his companions getting away just in time to save their lives and 
scalps. Through Mr Cook's judicious arrang-ements, the fleet 
reached the island of Orleans in safety; and he afterwards sur- 
veyed and made a chart of the St Lawrence, which, together with 
sailing directions for that river, were published in London. 

On his return from Quebec, Mr Cook was appointed master of 
tlie Northumberland, under Lord Colville, who was stationed as 
commodore at Halifax. Here he enjoyed much leisure during 
the winter ; but instead of frittering it away in the frivolous or 
worse amusements of a seaport, he diligently employed it in 
studies suitable to his profession. No sailor can possibly advance 
beyond the rank of an ordinary seaman unless he be acquainted 
with the theory as well as the practice of navigation ; and to 
gain this knowledge, he must attain a certain proficiency in 
mathematics. Aware of this. Cook began by gaining an accu- 
rate knowledge of Euclid's Elements of Plane Geometry ; and 
proceeded thence to the higher branches of mathematical study, 
including nautical astronomy. By these means he learned to 
take astronomical observations, to calculate a ship's progress, and 
to ascertain the degree of latitude and longitude at any given 
spot on the trackless ocean. In short, he became an accomplished 
mariner, ready for any office of trust. Besides improving him- 
self in these useful branches of education, he possessed sufficient 
tact to cultivate urbanity of manner, and to gain the confidence 
and esteem of his acquaintance. This was a point of some con- 
sequence ; for intellectual acquirements, without a polite and 
high moral bearing, are of small avail in the general intercourse 
of the world, and, personally, may do more harm than good. It 
is gratifying to know that Cook aimed at gentlemanly behaviour 
not less than skill in his profession ; and to this commendable 
effort — which the most humble may practise — is perhaps owing 
not a little of his future success in life. 

In 1762 the Northumberland was ordered to Newfoundland, 
to assist in the recapture of that island ; and here the talents and 
assiduity of our hero were again conspicuous. Greatly improved 
by his winter's studies, he was now still more able to make nau- 
tical surveys, and these he carried on to a considerable extent on 

3 



LIFE OF CAPTAIN COOK. 

the coast of Newfoundland; laying down bearings, marking- 
headlands and soundings, and otherwise placing on record many 
facts which proved highly advantageous to future voyagers, 
especially those engaged in fishing speculations. 

Towards the close of this year (1762) Mr Cook returned to 
England, and was married at Barking, in Essex, to Miss Eliza- 
heth Batts, who has been spoken of as a truly amiable and excel- 
lent woman. In the following year, through the intervention of 
Captain (afterwards Admiral) Graves, the governor of Newfound- 
land, who was well acquainted with Cook's worth, he was ap- 
pointed to survey the whole coast of that island, which he accom- 
plished with great ability, as well as Miquelon and St Pierre, 
which had been ceded to the French. Cook then returned to 
England, but did not remain long*. His constant friend, Sir 
Hugh Palliser, assumed the command at Newfoundland, and 
took Mr Cook with him, bearing the appointment of marine 
surveyor, and a schooner was directed to attend upon him in his 
aquatic excursions. His charts and observations, particularly on 
astronomy, brought him into correspondence with the members 
of the Roj^al Society ; and some scientific observations on the 
eclipse of the sun were inserted in the 57th volume of the Philo- 
sophical Transactions. 

Here may be said to close the first chapter in Cook's life. We 
have traced him from the humble home of his father, an obscure 
peasant, through the early part of his career, till his thirty-fourth 
year, at which time he had gained a footing among the most 
learned men in England. The youthful aspirant will observe 
that this enviable point had not been reached without patient 
study. Cook could have gained no acquaintanceship with mem- 
bers of the Royal Society, nor could he have placed himself in 
the way of promotion, had he been contented to remain an illi- 
terate seaman. 

FIRST VOYAGE ROUND THE WORLD. 

Prepared by diligent self-culture. Cook was ready for any 
enterprise wluch circumstances might produce. The project 
of a voyage of discovery, involving certain important astro- 
nomical observations, fortunately came under discussion while 
he was in a state of hesitation as to his future movements. The 
principal object of the expedition was to observe a transit of the 
planet Venus over the face of the sun, which could only be done 
somewhere in the Pacific or Southern ocean. The transit was 
to happen in June 1769, The Royal Society, as interested in 
the phenomenon for the sake of science, applied to George IH. 
to fit out an expedition suitable to take the observations. The 
request was complied with; and no other man being so well 
calculated to take the command, it was given to Cook. The 
appointment was quite to the mind of our hero, and he was soon 
ready for sea. He received the commission of a lieutenant from 

4 



LIFE OF CAPTAIN COOK. 



his majesty, and the Endeavour, of 370 tons, was placed at his 
disposal. About this time Captain Wallis returned from his 
voyage of discovery, and reported Otaheite (now called Tahiti) 
to be the most elig-ible spot for the undertaldng*. That island 
was therefore fixed upon for the observation. Mr Charles Green 
undertook the astronomical department, and Mr Banks (after- 
wards Sir Joseph) and Dr Solander, purely through a love of 
science, and at g-reat expense to themselves, obtained permission 
to accompany the expedition. r 

The Endeavour was victualled for eighteen months, armed 
with 12 carriage guns and 12 swivels, and manned with a com- 
plement of 84 seamen. Every requisite preparation was made 
for such a voyage that human foresight could suggest ; trinkets 
and other things were put on board "to trade with the natives- 
and on the 26th August 1768 they sailed from Plymouth Sound 
for the hitherto but little explored South Seas. On the 13th 
September they anchored in Funchal roads, Madeira, and here 
commenced the researches and inquiries of the men of science. 
From hence they departed on the night of the 18th ; and fallino^ 
short of water and provisions on the Brazil coast, they put intS 
the beautiful harbour of Rio Janeiro on the 13th November. The 
viceroy of this fine city could make nothing of the scientific 
intentions of the English, and was exceedingly troublesome and 
annoying. When told that they were bound to the South Seas 
to observe the transit of Venus, he could form no other concep- 
tion of the matter than that it was the passing of the north star 
through the south pole. Numerous difficulties were thrown in 
the way of the departure of the voyagers after they had victualled 
and watered ; and when they sailed, shots were fired at them 
from the fort of Santa Cruz, a heavy battery at the entrance of 
the harbour ; and on inquiry, Mr Cook ascertained that the pass 
for the Endeavour had not been sent from the city. A spirited 
remonstrance was made, and the viceroy apologised. 

On the 7th December the voyagers finally quitted this place 
and on the 14th January 1769 entered the Straits of I.e Maire' 
where the sea was running tremendously high, and on the fol- 
lowing day anchored in the Bay of Good Success. Althouo-h the 
season was extremely inclement, yet the love of botany induced 
Mr Banks, Dr Solander, Mr Monkhouse the surgeon and Mr 
Green the astronomer, to ascend the mountains' in 'search of 
plants. They took with them their attendants and servants with 
two seamen ; and after suffering severe hardships from the cold 
and the torpor it produced, they got back to the ship on the 
second day, leavmg two black men, who had accompanied them 
dead from the extreme severity of the weather. They could not 
be got on, but lay down to rest, and slept the sleep of death Dr 
Solander with great difficulty was saved ; for although the first 
to warn others agamst the danger of reposing, yet he was event- 
ually himself so overcome, that great exertion was required to 



LIFE OF CAPTAIN COOK. 

force him along. They found the inhabitants on the coasts of 
these straits a wretched set of being-s, with scarcely any covering; 
dwelling in hovels made of sticks and grass, that offered no 
obstruction to the entrance of the wind, the snow, and the rain. 
They wandered about, picking up a scanty subsistence wherever 
they could, though they had not a single implement to dress 
their fish when caught, or any other food : still, they appeared to 
be contented ; and the only things they coveted from the English 
were beads and useless trinkets. 

On the 26th January the Endeavour took her departure from 
Cape Horn, and before March 1st had run 660 leagues. Several 
islands were discovered in their progress, most of which were 
supposed to be inhabited; and their beautiful verdure and de- 
lightful appearance were highly gratifying to the sea-worn mari- 
ners. On the 11th April they came in sight of Otaheite, and 
two days after anchored in Port Royal (Matavai), where the 
scientific gentlemen landed, and fixed upon a spot to serve them 
for an observatory. The natives displayed much friendship ; but, 
to prevent collision, Mr Cook drew up a code of regulations by 
which communication and traffic were to be carried on. A tent 
was erected on the site proposed — the natives keeping outside a 
marked boundary — and a midshipman with thirteen marines 
were placed over it as guards. As soon as this was accomplished, 
the party proceeded to examine the interior of the island ; but 
soon after their departure, one of the natives snatched away the 
musket of the sentry. The marines were ordered to fire, and the 
thief was shot dead. This greatly alarmed the natives ; but in 
a day or two they again became familiarised and friendly. Mr 
Cook proceeded to erect a fort round the observatory, and 
mounted six swivel guns, which caused apprehensions amongst 
the chiefs ; but the natives assisted in the works ; and the com- 
mander displayed his sense of justice by publicly flogging the 
butcher for having attempted or threatened the life of a wife of 
one of the chiefs, who was particularly favourable to the English. 
On the first stroke of the lash, the natives earnestly solicited that 
the man should be forgiven ; but Mr Cook deemed the example 
essential, and inflicted the whole punishment, greatly to the pain 
and regret of the compassionate Indians, many of whom shed 
tears. 

As soon as the fort was completed, and the astronomical in- 
struments were landed, they sought for the quadrant by which 
the transit was to be observed, but it was nowhere to be found. 
Diligent search was made, and a reward ofiered, but without 
success; and it was feared that the object of their long and 
arduous voyage would remain unaccomplished. At length, 
through the judicious intervention of Mr Banks, the quadrant 
was recovered from the natives who had stolen it, and with great 
joy set up in its place. The approach of the time of observation 
produced anxiety and excitement; and hoping that the atmo- 

6 



LIFE OF CAPTAIN COOK. 

sphere would be clear and favourable, as well as to make assur- 
ance sure, Mr Cook established two other observatories — one on 
the island of Eimeo, under Mr Banks, and the other to the east- 
ward of the main observatory, under Mr Hicks (the master). 
The morning of the 3d June was ushered in with a cloudless 
sky, and at the fort the transit was observed in the most satis- 
factory manner. The success of their enterprise was hig-hly 
gratifying to the voyagers ; but their pleasure was somewhat 
damped by the violence which at times was engendered be- 
tween the natives and the seamen, the former of whom proved 
to be dexterous thieves. But Mr Cook would not allow the 
plunderers to be fired upon, as he considered the issue of life 
and death to be of too important a nature to be intrusted to 
a sentinel, without any form of trial or show of equity; nor 
did he deem a petty theft as meriting so severe a punishment. 
On one occasion, however, he seized upon all their fishing 
canoes, fully laden ; and though from motives of humanity he 
gave up the fish, yet he detained the vessels, under a hope that 
several ai'ticles which had been pilfered would be restored. But 
in this he was mistaken ; for nothing of value was given up, 
and ultimately he released the canoes. Mr Cook and Mr 
Banks circumnavigated the island, and visited many villages, 
where they renewed acquaintance with the several chiefs. Ex- 
ploring parties were also sent into the interior ; and Mr Banks 
planted the seeds of water-melons, oranges, lemons, limes, and 
other plants and trees which he had collected for the purpose (some 
of which are now in rich perfection) ; and it was ascertained that 
parts of the island manifested appearances of subterranean fire. 

On the 7th July the carpenters began to dismantle the fort 
preparatory to departure, and on the 13th the ship weighed 
anchor. Tupia, one of the principal natives, and chief priest of 
the country, with a boy of thirteen, having obtained permission 
from Mr Cook to embark for England, they took an affecting 
and affectionate leave of their friends. Few places possess more 
seductive influences than Otaheite. The climate is delightful, 
the productions of the earth bountiful and almost spontaneous, 
and the people, though addicted to pilfering, simple, kind-hearted, 
and hospitable. 

After quitting Otaheite, the Endeavour visited the islands 
Huaheine, Ulietea, Otaha, and Bolabola, where Mr Cook pur- 
chased various articles of food. They also anchored at Owharre, 
and exchanged friendly gifts with the natives ; and presents of 
English medals, &c. with inscriptions, were made to the king 
Oree. Ulietea had been conquered by the king of Bolabola, but 
he received the English with considerable courtesy. These visits 
occupied rather more than three weeks; and Ulietea, Otaha, 
Bolabola, Huaheine, Tabai, and Mawrua, as they lay contiguous 
to each other, were named by Mr Cook the Society Islands. 

In their intercoui'se with the natives of these places (all of 

7 



LIFE OF CAPTAIN COOK. 

wliicli more or less resembled the manners and habits of the 
Otaheitans), they were greatly assisted by Tiipia, who was very 
proud of the power possessed by his new friends. On the 9th 
August, the Endeavour quitted Ulietea, and on the 13th made 
the island Oheteoa, where they attempted to land ; but the natives 
displayed so much hostility, that Mr Cook deemed it best to de- 
sist, and proceeded on his way to the southward in search of a 
supposed continent. On the 25tli they celebrated the anniver- 
sary of their departure from England, and on the 30th they ob- 
served a comet ; it was just above the horizon, to the eastward, 
at one a.m.; and about half-past four, when it passed the meri- 
dian, its tail subtended an angle of forty-five degrees. Tupia 
declared that its appearance would be the signal for the warriors 
of Bolabola to attack the Ulieteans and drive them to the moun- 
tains. The vessel was now proceeding in a south-westerly direc- 
tion from the Pacific towards New Zealand, Cook designing to 
return by way of the Cape of Good Hope, and thus circumnavi- 
gate the globe. On the 6th October land was discovered, which 
proved to be a part of New Zealand ; where, having anchored, an 
attempt was made to open a communication with the natives, but 
"without effect. Their hostile menaces and actions were all of a 
decidedly warlike nature, and it was only when they felt the supe- 
riority of firearms, of which they seemed to have been in igno- 
rance, that they desisted from attacks. Tupia addressed them to 
be peaceable, and they understood his language ; but he could not 
prevail upon them to put confidence in the English. A conflict 
took place, in which some of the New Zealanders were rather 
unnecessarily killed, and three boys were taken prisoners, who 
were treated with much kindness. As the place afforded nothing 
that the voyagers wanted, Mr Cook named it Poverty Bay. The 
boys were dismissed, and the treatment they had expeiiepiced 
induced some of the Indians to come oflp to the ship; but it ap- 
peared almost impossible to conciliate any one of them for long. 
Armed parties in large canoes assembled, and paddled off to the 
Endeavour, under pretext of trading, but in reality to plunder ; 
and in various instances it was deemed essentially necessary to 
fire upon them. They also seized Tayeto, Tupia's boy, but were 
compelled to relinquish their prey through the effects of a mus- 
ket ball; and the lad, taking advantage, leaped from the canoe, 
in which he had been held down, and swam back to the ship. 
Whilst standing along the coast, they fell in with the largest 
canoe they had yet seen: her length was 68 1 feet, her breadth 
6 feet, and her depth 3 feet 6 inches. About this time the En- 
deavour narrowly escaped being wrecked on the rocks that lay 
some distance from the land ; but by the skill and judgment of 
Mr Cook, the danger was avoided. On the 9th November, Lieu- 
tenant Cook, accompanied by Mr Green, lauded with the neces- 
sary instruments to observe the transit of Mercury over the sun's 
disc, and this they performed to their entire satisfaction. 

8 



LIFE OF CAPTAIN COOK. 

On the 5tli December, whilst turning out of the Bay of Islands, 
it fell calm ; and the Endeavour drifted so close to the shore, that 
notwithstanding- the incessant roar of the breakers, they could 
converse with the natives on the beach. The pinnace was g-ot 
out to tow the vessel's head round ; but none expected to escape 
destruction, when a light land-breeze sprang- up, and g-radually 
they g-ot clear from their perilous situation — the ground was too 
foul to anchor. About an hour afterwards, just as the man 
heaving* the lead sang- out " seventeen fathoms," she struck on 
■a sunken rock with force ; but the swell washed her over, and 
she was ag-ain in deep water. On the 30th December they made 
the land, which they judg-ed to be Cape Maria, Van Diemens ; 
and on the 14th January 1770, anchored in a snug- cove in Queen 
Cliarlotte's Sound, to refit the ship and clean her bottom. Here 
they caug-ht a g-reat quantit}^ of fish by means of the seine — at 
one time not less than three hundredweight at two hauls. They 
also found an excellent stream of fresh-water. In one of their 
researches they discovered an Indian family ; and it is related 
that they had indisputable proofs of the custom of eating- human 
flesh. The place they were in is described as very delightful ; 
and Mr Cook took several opportunities of obtaining views from 
the hio-h hills, and examining the nearest coast. The inhabitants 
were friendly disposed, and everywhere received the English 
with hospitality. Mr Cook selected a favourable spot, on which 
he erected a pole, and having hoisted the union jack, named the 
place Queen Charlotte's Sound, in honour of her majesty. Coins 
and spike-nails were given ,to the Indian spectators ; and after 
drinking the queen's health in wine, the empty bottle was 
bestowed upon the man who had carried it when full, with which 
."he was much delighted. 

On the 5th February he quitted this part of New Zealand, 
and proceeded to explore three or four islands in that locality, 
giving names to capes, headlands, rocks, &c. But this was not 
accomplished without considerable peril, on account of the 
streng'tli of the currents. To one place he gave the name of 
Admiralty Bay, where he took in wood and filled his water-casks, 
and sailed again on the 31st March, intending to return home 
by way of the East Indies. On the 19th April they came in 
sight of New Holland (or New South Wales, as it is now called), 
find anchored in Botany Bay on the 28th, where they landed : 
but contrary to the will of two or three Indians, who attacked 
the English with their lances, but on the firing of muskets, fled. 
The voyagers left l)eads and trinkets in the huts of the natives, 
and during the time they remained at that place they were 
untouched. The inhabitants seemed utterly regardless *of the 
sliip, though they could never have seen such a spectacle before. 
Here they caught a fish called a string-ray, which, after the 
entrails were taken out, weighed 33G pounds. 

i\Ir Cook prosecuted his discoveries in New South Wales with 

4 9 



XIFE OF CAPTAIN COOK. 

zeal and energjr over a track of 1300 miles ; but on the 10th 
June, near Trinity Bay, the Endeavour struck on a reef of coral 
rocks, and was compelled to start her water, throw her g-uns 
overboard, and use every mode to lighten the vessel 5 but with 
four pumps at work, they could not keep her free ; and every soul, 
thoug-h struggling hard for life, yet prepared for that death 
which now appeared to be inevitable. Upon these rocks the ship 
remained for nearly forty-eight hours, her sheathing ripped off, 
and the very timbers nearly rubbed through : by great exertion, 
however, she was got afloat at high tide, and it was found that she 
made no more water than when aground ; and the men, by work- 
ing incessantly at the pumps, kept her afloat. At the suggestion 
of INIr Monkhouse, a sail was fothered (that is, pieces of oakum 
and other light materials were slightly stitched to it), and being 
hauled under the ship's bottom, the loose pieces were sucked into 
the leaks, and in a great measure stopped the holes, so that they 
were enabled to keep the water in the hold under with only one 
pump. On the morning of the 17th, after running aground 
twice, they got into a convenient harbour for repairing their 
damages ; and here, when the vessel was hove down, they found 
a large piece of rock in the ship's bottom, firmly jammed in the 
hole it had made, so as to exclude the sea, and which, if it had 
fallen out, must have proved fatal to all. 

About this time the scurvy broke out amongst them, and at- 
tacked indiscriminately both officers and men ; but the quantity 
of fish that was caught, allowing each man two pounds and a-half 
per day, together with turtle and herbs, somewhat checked its 
progress. Three of the turtle caught weighed together 791 pounds. 
The natives took but little notice of the voyagers at first, but after- 
wards became familiar ; and on one occasion, when refused some- 
thing which 'they wanted, one of them seized a firebrand, and 
going to windward of the place where the armourer was at work, 
set fire to the high grass, so that every part of the smith's forge 
that would burn was destroyed. A musket ball was fired at 
them, and they ran away. The fire was repeated in the woods 
shortly afterwards, but without injury, as the stores and powder 
that had been landed were already on board. The hills all round 
burned fiercely for several nights. 

It must here be mentioned, that the injuries sustained by the 
vessel proved destructive to many valuable specimens that had 
been collected by Mr Banks, which had been put for security in 
the bread-room, but the salt-water saturating a great portion, they 
were utterly spoiled. The place where they refitted was named 
by Mr Cook Endeavour River. Its entrance for many miles was 
surrounded with shoals, and the channels between them were 
very intricate. On the 4th August they quitted their anchorage, 
and it was not till the 24th that they got clear of the reefs and 
sandbanks. After another narrow escape from being wrecked, 
they made New Guinea on the 3d September, where they an- 
10 



LIFE OF CAPTAIN COOK. 

chored, and went on shore ; but the hostility of the natives, who 
resembled those of New South Wales, prevented intercourse. 
The latter used a sort of combustible material that ig-nited, with- 
out any report. The land looked rich and luxurious in vegeta- 
tion, and the cocoa-nut, the bread-fruit, and the plantain trees, 
flourished in the highest perfection. Mr Cook made sail to the 
westward, contrary to the wish of his people, who wanted to cut 
down the trees to get their fruit, but which, through humanity 
to the natives, he would not permit. In pursuing their voyage, 
they fell in with islands which were not upon the charts, and 
passed Timor and others, intending to run for Java : on the 
17tli they saw a beautiful island, and found Dutch residents, 
with cattle and sheep. The crew of the Endeavour had suffered 
many privations and hardships, and the scurvy was making 
havoc among them, so that they complained of their commander 
not having put in at Timor ; but now they obtained nine buf- 
faloes, six sheep, three hog's, thirty dozen of fowls, &c. with 
several hundred gallons of palm syrup. This was the island 
Savu, and the natives are spoken of as highly pure in their 
morals and integrity, and their land a perfect paradise. 

On the 21st Mr Cook again sailed, and on the 1st October 
came within sight of Java, and on the 9th brought up in Batavia 
Eoads, where they found the Harcoui't East Indiaman, and once 
more enjoyed the pleasure of communicating with their country- 
men, and obtaining news from home. As it was deemed neces- 
sary to re-examine the Endeavour's bottom, preparations were 
made for that purpose. Tupia and his boy Tayoeta were almost 
mad with delight on viewing the display of European manners 
on shore ; but sickness assailed all who resided in the city, and 
the two Indians became its victims. In about six weeks there 
were buried Mr Spearing, assistant to Mr Banks, Mr Parkinson, 
artist, Mr Green, astronomer, the boatswain, the carpenter and 
his mate, Mr IMonkhouse and another midshipman, the sailmaker 
and his assistant, the ship's cook, the corporal of marines, and 
eleven seamen. 

On the 27th December the Endeavour, being completed, stood 
out to sea, and on the 5th January 1771 anchored at Prince's 
Island, but sailed again on the I5th for the Cape of Good Hope, 
where they arrived on the 15th March. On the 14th April Mr 
Cook.resumed his voyage home, touched at St Helena (1st May 
to 4th), made the Lizard on the 10th June, and anchored the next 
day in the Downs, where Mr Cook left her. 

The arrival of Mr Cook, and the publication of sketches of his 
voyage, produced earnest desires to ascertain the full extent of 
his discoveries. Unknown parts had been explored ; vast addi- 
tions were made to geograpliical and scientific knowledge ; the 
productions of various countries, together with the manners, 
habits, and customs of the natives, excited universal curiosity 
and deep interest; so that, when Dr Hawkesworth's account of the 

11 



LIFE OF CAPTAIN COOK, 

'voyag-e, from the papers of Mr Cook and Mr Banks, was pub- 
-lished, it was eagerly bought up at a large price. The astrono- 
mical observations threw much information on the theory of the 
heavenly bodies ; navigation had eminently proved its vast capa- 
bilities : it had been in a great measure determined that no 
southern continent existed, or at least that neither New Zealand 
nor New South Wales were parts of such a continent ; and most 
interesting accounts were given of the places visited and the 
perils encountered. 

Mr Cook was promoted to the rank of commander ; the Royal 
Society honoured him with especial favoiu' and notice ; and his 
society was courted by men of talent and research, eager for in- 
formation. His worthy patrons, Sir Charles Saunders and Sir 
Hugh Palliser, were gratified to find their recommendations had 
been so well supported ; the Earl of Sandwich, then at the head 
of the Admiralty Board, paid him considerable attention ; and 
his majesty George III. treated him with more than ordinary 
consideration. Captain Cook enjoyed sufficient to make him 
proud ; but he was too humble in mind, too modest in disposi- 
tion, and too diffident in manners, to cherish one atom of unbe- 
coming self-estimation. 

SECOND VOYAGE BOUND THE WORLD. 

The idea of the existence of a southern continent, or, as the 
learned called it, Terra Australis Incognita^ had existed for more 
than two centuries ; and though Cook had sailed over many 
parts where it was said to be situated, without seeing land, yet 
his first voyage did not altogether destroy the expectation that it 
might yet be found. Besides, his discoveries in the South Seas 
had whetted the public appetite for still further knowledg^e on 
-the subject. The king, well pleased with what had been done, 
wished more to be accomplished; and accordingly, two stout 
ships built at Hull Avere purchased — the Resolution, of 462 
tons, commanded by Captain Cook, with a complement of 112 
persons ; and the Adventure, of 336 tons, commanded by Tobias 
Furneaux, with a crew, including officers, of 81 souls. These 
appointments took place on 28th November 1771, and the most , 
active exertions were immediately called into operation to fit 
them for the undertaking. Experience had taught Captain 
Cook what was most essential and requisite for such a voyage ; ■ 
not only for the comforts and preservation of his people from 
scurvy, not only for commerce with the natives, but cattle and 
seeds of various kinds, and numerous things which philanthropy 
suggested, were shipped for the purpose ot spreading the advan- 
tages of propagation and fertility amongst the South Sea islands ; 
the benefits of which have since been experienced by other 
voyagers in an eminent degree. The Admiralty engaged Mr 
W. Hodges as landscape painter; Mr J. R. Forster and son 
were appointed to collect specimens of natural history ; and Mr 

12 



LIFE OF CAPTAIN COOK. 

"Wales in the Resolution, and Mr Bayley in the Adventure, were 
sent by the Board of Longitude to superintend astronomical 
observations, for which they were furnished with admirable 
instruments and four excellent time-pieces. 

The instructions g-iven to Captain Cook were — "To circum- 
naYi<^ate the whole' g-lobe in high southern latitudes, making* 
traverses from time to time into every part of the Pacific Ocean 
that had not undergone previous investigation, and to use his 
best endeavours to resolve the much agitated question of the 
existence of a southern continent." 

On the 13th July 1772 the two vessels quitted Plymouth, and 
after touching' at Madeira for wine, and at the Cape de Verds for 
water, crossed the line with a brisk south-west wind, and anchored 
in Table Bay, Cape of Good Hope, on the 30tli October. Here 
Captain Cook ascertained that the French Avere prosecuting dis- 
coveries in the South Seas, and that, about eight months before, 
two French ships had sailed about forty miles along' land in the 
latitude of 48 degrees, but had been driven off by a gale of wind. 
He also learned that two others had recently left the Mauritius 
for a similar purpose. On the 22d November Captain Cook 
took leave of Table Bay, and pursued his voyage for Cape Cir- 
cumcision, but encountered very severe gales, which destroyed 
much of the live stock, and the people experienced great incon- 
venience from the intensity of the cold. The judicious manage- 
ment of the commander, however, prevented any fatal result. 
Warm clothing was given to the men ; the decks below were 
kept well dried and ventilated, as well as Avarmed ; and an addi- 
tion was made to the issue of grog. On the 10th December 
they fell in with immense icebergs, some two miles in circuit at 
the edge of the water, and about sixty feet in height, over which 
the sea was breaking with tremendous violence. On the 14th 
the ships were stopped by a field of low ice, to which no end 
could be seen, either east, west, or south. On the 18th they 
got clear of this obstruction, but continued amongst the fields 
and bergs, with heavy gales of wind, till the 1st January 1773, 
when it was clear enough to see the moon, which they had only 
done once before since quitting the Cape. The fogs had been so 
impenetrable as to obscure the heavens. Various indications 
had induced a belief that land was not far distant, and Captain 
Cook had as near as possible pursued a course for the supposed 
Cape Circumcision. By the 17th January they had reached the 
latitude of 67 degrees 15 minutes south, where they found the 
ice closel}' packed from east to west-south-west, and further pro- 
gress debarred, unless by running the hazard of getting blocked 
up, as the summer in this part of the world was rapidly passing 
away. The captain therefore desisted from penetrating further 
to the south, and returned northerly, to look for the asserted 
recently-discovered land of the French. On the 1st February 
they were in latitude 48 degrees 30 minutes south, and longitude 

13 



LIFE OF CAPTAIN COOK. 

58 degrees 7 minutes east, where it was stated to have been seen; 
but nothing" of the kind presented itself to view. He traversed 
this part of the ocean with similar results ; and during" a dense 
fog, parted company with the Adventure. On the 23d they were 
in latitude 61 degrees 52 minutes south, and longitude 95 degrees 
2 minutes east ; the weather thick and stormy, and the ship 
surrounded by di^ifting ice. Captain Cook therefore stood to 
the north in a hard gale with a heavy sea, which broke up the 
mountains of ice, and rendered them, by their numbers, still 
more dangerous, especially in the long dark nights. On the 13th 
and 14th March the astronomers got observations which showed 
the latitude to be 58 degrees 22 minutes south, and the longitude 
136 degrees 22 minutes east, whilst the watches showed the latter 
to be 134 degrees 42 minutes east. Captain Cook had become 
convinced he had left no continent south of him, and conse- 
quently shaped a course for New Zealand, to refresh his men, 
refit his ship, and look for the Adventure. He made the land, 
and anchored in Dusky Bay on the 26th March, after having 
been 117 days at sea, and traversed 3660 leagues without 
seeing any land; whilst during the whole time, through the 
arrangements and supplies of Captain Cook, scarcely a single 
case of scurvy occurred. From Dusky Bay they removed to 
another anchorage, where fish were plentifully caught, and the 
woods abounded with wild fowl ; timber and fire-wood were 
close at hand, and a fine stream of fresh water within a hundred 
yards of the ship's stern. This place was named Pickersgill 
Harbour, in honour of the lieutenant who discovered it. The 
workmen erected tents for the forge, the carpenters, the sail- 
makers, coopers, and others, and a spot was selected for an ob- 
servatory. Some tolerably good beer was manufactured from 
the branches and leaves of a tree resembling the American black 
spruce, mixed with the inspissated juice of wort and molasses. 

On the 28th some of the natives visited them, and though at 
first shy, a friendly intercourse was subsequently established.. 
Captain Cook surveyed Dusky Bay, where, in retired spots, he 
planted seeds, and left several geese. They also caught a num- 
ber of seals, from which they procured a supply of oil. On 
the 11th May they quitted this place for Queen Charlotte's 
Sound, and on the 17th it fell perfectly calm, and they had an 
opportunity of seeing no less than six waterspouts, one of which 
passed within fifty yards of the Resolution. The next day they 
made the Sound, where the Adventure had already arrived, and 
great was the joy at meeting. On the 4th June they celebrated 
the birthday of George III., and a chief and his family, consist- 
ing of ninety persons, were shown the gardens which had been 
made, which they promised to continue in cultivation. A male 
and female goat were put on shore on the east side of the Sound, 
and a boar and two sows near Cannibal Cove, which it was 
hoped would not be molested. 

14 



LIFE OF CAPTAIN COOK. 

On the 17th June the shij^s sailed, and on the 29th July the 
crew of the Adventure manitested rather alarming symptoms of 
a sickly state. The cook died, and about twenty of her best men 
were incapable of duty throug-h scurvy and flux ; whilst at this 
period only three men were sick in the Resolution, and but one 
of these with the scurvy. The difference was attributed to the 
people of the former ship not having- fed much upon celery, 
scurvy -grass, and other greens, whilst at Queen Charlotte's 
Sound. On the 1st Auo-ust they were in the supposed position 
of Pitcairn's Island, laid down by Captain Carteret in 1767 ; but 
as its longitude was incorrectly stated, they did not see it, but 
must have passed it about 15 leagues to the westward. On the 
Cth of August the ships got the advantage of the trade-winds 
at south-east, being at that time in latitude 19 degrees 36 minutes 
south, and longitude 131 degrees 32 minutes west. The captain 
directed his course west-north-west, passed a number of islands 
and rocks, which he named the Dangerous Archipelago, and on 
the loth August came in sight of Osnaburgh Island, or Maitea, 
which had been discovered by Captain Wallis, and sail was imme- 
diately made for Otaheite, which they saw the same evening. 

On the 17th the ships anchored in Oaiti-piha Bay, and the 
natives immediately crowded on board with fruits and roots, 
which were exchanged for nails and beads ; and presents of shirts, 
axes, &c. were made to several who called themselves chiefs. 
Their thieving propensities, however, could not be restrained; 
and some articles of value having been stolen. Captain Cook 
turned the whole of them out of the ship, and then fired mus- 
ketry over their heads, to show them the hazard which they ran. 
It is worthy of remark, that though Tupia was well known to 
the islanders, yet very few inquired what had become of him ; 
and those who did, on being informed that he was dead, expressed 
neither sorrow, suspicion, nor surprise ; but every one anxiously 
asked for Mr Banks and others who had accompanied Captain 
Cook in his former voyage. With respect to the Otaheitans, 
considerable changes had occurred. Toutaha, the regent of the 
great peninsula of that island, had been slain in battle about 
live months before the Resolution's arrival, and Otoo was now 
the reigning chief. Several others friendly to the English had 
fallen ; but Otoo manifested much friendship for them. A few 
days subsequent to their anchoring in the bay, a marine died ; 
the rest of the men, who had laboured under sickness and scor- 
butic weakness, very soon recovered, through the supplies of 
fresh meat and vegetables. 

On the 24th the ships got under weigh, and the next evening 
anchored in JNIatavai Bay, where the decks became excessively 
crowded by natives, who had visited them the voyage previous. 
On the following day Captain Cook went to Oparre to see Otoo, 
whom he describes as a fine well-made man, six feet high, and 
about thirty yeai's of age. He was not, however, very coura- 

15 



LIFE OF CAPTAIN COOK. 

geous, for he declined accompanying' the captain on board the 
Eesolution, as he was " afraid of the guns." The observatory 
was fitted up, the sick were landed, as well as a guard of ma- 
rines, and the natives brought hogs and fruits to barter. Some 
disturbance that took place through two or three marines behav- 
ing rudely to the women, caused at the time considerable alarm ; 
but the men were seized and punished, and tranquillity restored. 

Everything being ready for sea, on the 1st Sej)tember the ships 
quitted 3Iatavai Bay, and visited the other islands. At Owharre, 
the chief brought the presents he had received from Captain 
Cook on the previous voyage, to show that he had treasured 
them. He also behaved very generously, in sending 'the best 
fruits and vegetables that could be procured for the captain's 
table. The intercourse with the natives was proceeding very 
quietly, when, on the 6th, without any provocation, a man assailed 
Captain Cook with a club at the landing-place ; and Mr Sparr- 
man, who had gone into the woods to botanise, was stripped 
and beaten. The Indians expressed great contrition for this 
outrage ; and the king, on being informed of it, not only wept 
aloud, but placed himself under the entire control of the English, 
and went with them in search of the stolen articles. His subjects 
endeavoured to prevent this, but his sister encouraged him ; 
and not meeting with success, Oree insisted on being taken on 
board the Eesolution to remain as a hostage. He dined wdth 
Captain Cook, and was afterwards landed by that officer, to the 
great joy of the people, who brought in hogs and fruits, and 
soon filled two boats. The only thing recovered belonging to 
JMr Sparrman was his hanger. The next day the ships unmoored^ 
and put to sea for Huaheine, where they remained a short time, 
and received on board a native named Omai, who afterward^; 
figured much in England. 

The inhabitants of the Society Islands generally manifested 
g'reat timidity ; on some occasions they offered human sacrifices- 
to a supreme being. The voyagers quitted this part of the world 
on the 17th, and "sailed to the westward, and gave the name of 
Harvey's Island to land they discovered on the 23d. It was in 
19 degrees 18 minutes south, and 158 degrees 4 minutes west. 
By October 1st they reached Middleburg, and were welcomed 
with loud acclamations by the natives. Barter commenced ; but 
the people ashore seemed more desirous to give than to receive, 
and threw into the boats whole bales of cloth, without asking or 
waiting for anything in return. After leaving some garden 
seeds, and other useful things, the ships proceeded to Amsterdam, 
where they met a similar reception ; but Captain Cook putting 
a stop to the purchase of curiosities and cloth, the natives brought 
off pigs, fowls, and fruits in abundance, which they exchanged 
for spike nails. The island was extensively cultivated; there 
appeared to be not an inch of waste ground ; and the fertility of 
the soil was excellent. Captain Cook paid a visit to the head 

16 



LIFE OF CAPTAIN COOK. 

chief, who was seated, and seemed to be in a sort of idiotic stupor) 
nor did he take the slig'htest notice of the captain or any one 
else. The inhabitants of these islands are described as being* of 
good shape, regular features, brisk and lively ; particularly the 
women, who were constantly merry and cheerful. Most of the 
people had lost one or both of their little fingers, but no reason 
could be gathered as to the cause of amputation. 

The voyage was renewed on the 7th October, and on the 21st 
they came in sig-ht of New Zealand, eight or ten leagues from 
Table Cape, when Captain Cook presented the chief with two boars, 
two sows, four hens, two cocks, and a great variety of seeds — ■ 
wheat, peas, beans, cabbage, turnips, onions, &c., and a spike nail 
about ten inches in length, with which latter he seemed to be 
more delighted than with all the rest put together. After beat- 
ing about the coast in a variety of tempestuous weather, the 
Resolution anchored in Ship Cove, Queen Charlotte's Sound, on 
the 3d November ; but the Adventure was separated from them 
in a heavy gale, and was never seen or heard of during the 
remainder of the voyage. In this place they made the best use 
of the means they possessed to repair the damage they had sus- 
tained, but, on examining the stock of bread, ascertained that 
4992 pounds were totally unfit for use, and other 3000 pounds in 
such a state of decay that none but persons situated as our 
voyagers were could have eaten it. On inquiry after the animals 
left on the island by Captain Cook, most of them were pre- 
served in good condition, with the exception of two goats that a 
native had destroyed. The articles planted in the- gardens were 
in a flourishing condition. To his former gifts the captain now 
added many others, and placed them in such situations that they 
\yere not likely to be disturbed. Whilst lying here, complaint 
■ was made that some of the Resolution's men had plundered a 
native hut. The thief was discovered, tied up to a post, and 
flogged in the presence of the chiefs and their people, who ex- 
pressed themselves satisfied with the punishment inflicted. It wa& 
a ^reat principle with Cook to set an example of strict honesty. 

In this second voyage the captain gained indisputable proofs 
that the New Zealanders were eaters of human flesh; but he 
firmly believed that it was the flesh of captives, or those who had 
been killed in battle. 

Captain Cook quitted New Zealand on the 26th November, his 
ship's company in good health and spirits, and nowise daunted 
at the prospects of hardships they were about to endure in again 
searching for a southern continent or islands in high latitudes. 
They were not long before they once more encountered fields and 
islands of ice, and when in latitude 07 degrees 5 minutes, they 
were nearly blocked up. On the 22d December they attained 
the highest latitude they could venture — this was 07 degrees 
31 minutes south, and in longitude 142 degrees 54 minutes west ; 
but no laud was discovered. The crew of the Resolution were 

17 



LIFE OF CAPTAIN COOE. 

attacked by slight fever, caused by colds, but on coming* north- 
ward, it was cured in a few days ; and on the 5th January 1774, 
when in 50 degrees south, there were not more than two or three 
persons on the sick list. 

After traversing the ocean as far south as it was prudent to 
go, all the scientific men expressed their belief that ice surrounded 
the pole without any intervening land; the Resolution conse- 
quently returned to the northward to look for the island of Juan 
Fernandez. About this time Captain Cook was seized with a 
dangerous and distressing disease, and it was several days before 
the worst symptoms were removed. On his amending, there 
being no fresh provisions on board, and his stomach loathing the 
salt food, a favourite dog of Mr Forster was killed and boiled, 
which afforded both broth and meat, and upon this fare he gained 
strength. The Resolution, on the 11th March, came in sight of 
Easter Island, situated in 27 degrees 5 minutes south, and 109 
degrees 46 minutes west, where they remained a few days, and 
found the inhabitants very similar in appearance and character 
to the people of the more western isles. The place, however, 
afforded scarcely any food or fuel, the anchorage was unsafe, 
and the only matters worthy of notice were some rudely-carved 
gigantic statues in the interior. Captain Cook left Easter Island 
to pursue a course for the Marquesas, and got sight of them on 
the 6th April. During the passage the captain had a recurrence 
of his disorder, but it was neither so violent nor so long in dura- 
tion as before. The ship was anchored in Resolution Bay, at the 
island of St Christina, where thievery was practised equally as 
much as at the Society and other isles ; and one of the natives 
was unfortunately killed whilst in the act of carrying away the 
iron stanchion of the gangway. They had now been nineteen 
weeks at sea, entirely on salt provisions ; but still, owing to the 
anti-scorbutic articles and medicines, and the warmth and clean- 
liness preserved, scarcely a man was sick. Here they obtained 
fresh meat, fruits, yams, and plantains, but in small quanti- 
ties ; and the captain having corrected, by astronomical observa- 
tions, the exact position of these islands, once more made sail 
for Otaheite. During the passage they passed several small 
islands, and discovered four others, which Cook named after his 
old commander, Sir Hugh PalHser. On the 22d April the anchor 
was again let go in Matavai Bay, where the usual process was 
gone through of erecting the observatory to try the rates of the 
watches ; but no tent was required for the sick, as there was not 
a man ill on board. 

During the stay of Captain Cook at this island, where refresh- 
ments of all kinds were readily obtained, and particularly in 
exchange for some red feathers that had been brought from 
Amsterdam, the old friendships were renewed with Otoo and 
other chiefs ; there was a constant interchange of visits ; and on 
one occasion the Otaheitans got up a grand naval review. 

18 



LIFE OF CAPTAIN COOK. • 

The larffe canoes in this part of the world are extremely grace- 
ful and handsome in display, particularly the double war canoes, 
with flao's and streamers, paddling along with great swiftness, 
and performing their evolutions with considerable skill. No less 
than 160 of the largest double war canoes were assembled, luUy 
equipped, and the chiefs and their men, habited in fuU war cos- 
tume, appeared upon the fighting stages, with their clubs and 
other instruments of warfare ready for action. Besides these 
laro-e vessels, there were 170 smaller double canoes, each o± these 
las? having a mast and sail, and a sort of hut or cabin on the 
deck Captain Cook calculated that the number of men embarked 
in them could not be fewer than 7760, most of them armed 
^vith clubs, pikes, barbed spears, bows and arrows, and slmgs for 
throwing large stones ; in fact, strongly resembling the represen- 
tations of engagements with galleys in the Mediterranean de- 
scribed some centm'ies before. The spectacle at Otaheite was ex- 
tremely imposing, and greatly surprised the English. 

Whilst lying at Matavai Bay, one of the islanders was caugnt 
in the act of stealing a water-cask. Captain Cook had him se- 
cured and sent on board the Resolution, where he was put in 
irons, and in this degraded situation was seen by Otoo and other 
chiefs, who intreated that the man might be pardoned. But the 
captain would not comply with their requests ; he told them that 
*' any act of dishonesty amongst his own people was severely 
punished, and he was resolved to make an example of the thiet 
he had caught." Accordingly, the culprit was taken ashore to 
the tents, the guard turned out, and the offender being tied 
to a post, received two dozen lashes, inflicted by a boatswains 
mate Towha, one of the chiefs, then addressed the people, and 
recommended them to abstain from stealing in future. To make 
a further impression on them, the marines were ordered to go 
throuo-h their exercise, and load and fire with ball. 

A few days afterwards one of the gunner's mates attempted to 
desert and it was soon ascertained that he had formed an attach- 
ment on shore, and if he had got away, the natives would have 
concealed him up the country. Indeed the temptations for re- 
maining in this beautiful country were very great. Every re- 
quisite to sustain existence was abundant, the scenery splendid, 
the earth spontaneously fertile, the waters abounding with fish- 
in short a few hours' exertion was sufficient to obtain a week s 
supply; 'and in a climate replete with health, a European might 
have rendered others subservient to his will, and lived without 

labour of any kind. tt x. • i 

They next anchored in Owharre harbom', at Huaheme, and 
the foi-mer amicable intercourse was repeated. The stock of 
nails and articles of traffic being much reduced, the smiths were 
set to work to manufacture more. Whilst lying here, the 
voyagers had an opportunity of witnessing a theatrical repre- 
sentation, principally founded on au actual occurrence. A 



LIFE OF CAPTAIN COOK. 

young girl liad quitted Otaheite and her friends to accompany a 
seaman to Ulietea, and she was now present to see the draraa„ 
It described her as running away from her home, the grief of her 
parents, and a long string of adventures, which terminated in, 
her returning to her native place, where her reception was none 
of the most gentle that can be conceived. The poor girl could 
hardly be persuaded to wait for the conclusion, and she cried 
most bitterly. 

They parted from the inhabitants with much regret, and hav- 
ing called at Ulietea, they sailed past Howe Island, and dis- 
covered another nearly surrounded with reefs, to which the name 
of Palmerston was given. On the 20th July fresh land was 
seen, on which they went ashore, but found the natives fierce and 
hostile. The firing of muskets did not deter them ; and one came 
close enough to throw a spear at the captain, which passed just 
over his shoulder. The captain presented his piece, but it missed 
fire, and the daring feUow was saved. They named this Savage 
Island. It lies in latitude 19 degrees 1 minute south, longitude 
169 degrees 37 minutes west. From thence, after passing a 
number of small islets, they anchored on the 26th on the north 
side of Anamocka, Rotterdam, and commenced trade for provi- 
sions. But here, as at the other islands, frequent disputes and 
conflicts took place with the inhabitants on account of their- 
thievish propensities. Here they ascertained that a chain of 
islands, some of which they could see, existed in the neighbour- 
hood, forming a group within the compass of thi'ee degrees of 
latitude, and two of longitude, and which Captain Cook named 
the Friendly Isles ; which designation they certainly merited, for 
the social qualities and conduct of the natives. 

Pursuing their course westward, they came, on the 1st July, 
to a small island, which, on account of the great number of 
turtle, was named after that amphibious creature; and on the 
16th they saw high land; and after coasting it for two other 
days, they anchored in a harbour in the island of Mallecollo, to 
which the captain gave the name of Port Sandwich. At first the 
natives were hostile, but they were soon conciliated through the 
bland manners of Cook, and were found strictly honest in all 
their dealings. In fact, they are described as totall}' different to 
any they had yet visited. They were very dark, extremely ugly, 
and ill-proportioned, and their features strongly resembled those 
of a monkey. 

Soon after getting to sea, various other islands were seen 
and named ; and an afii'ay took place with some of the natives, 
in which two of them were wounded. A promontory near where 
the skirmish occuiTed they called Traitor's Head. After cruising- 
about amongst the great number of islands in this locality, making- 
observations and taking surveys, they steered towards New 
Zealand, to wood and water, previous to a renewal of their search 
to the southward; and on the 4th September discovered land, and 

20 



i 



LIFE OF CAPTAIN COOK. 

•entered a pleasant liarbour on the following day, where they were 
well received. On the 13th they weig'hed ag-ain, and surveyed 
the coast, by which they ascertained that the island was very 
extensive ; and, from certain peculiarities, Cook named it New 
Caledonia. Botany here received g-reat accessions. Many plants 
were collected hitherto unknown : and both g-eography and 
natural history afforded much research to the scientific men. A 
small island, on which were growing* some pine trees, received 
the name of Pine Island ; and another was called Botany, from 
the great variety of specimens obtained. 

The Resolution, in jDroceeding* for New Zealand, touched at an 
uninhabited island, abounding with vegetation, which was 
named Norfolk Island, and on the 18th October anchored in 
Ship Cove, Queen Charlotte's Sound, where she refitted and the 
captain completed his survey. Captain Cook had buried a bottle 
near the Cove when he was here before, and in digging now it 
was not to be found. It was therefore supposed that the Adven- 
ture had anchored here, and her people had removed it. On the 
10th November they took their departure ; and having sailed till 
the 27th in different degrees of latitude, from 43 degrees to 54 
degrees 8 minutes south. Captain Cook gave up hopes of falling 
in with any more land in this ocean. He therefore resolved to 
steer for the west entrance of the Straits of Magellan, in order to 
-coast along the south side of Terra del Fuego, round Cape Horn 
to the Straits of Le Maire. On 17th December he reached his 
first destination, and here the scenery was very different from 
what they had before beheld. Lofty rocky mountains entirely 
destitute of vegetation, craggy summits, and horrible precipices ; 
the whole aspect of the country barren and savage. Yet near 
every harbour they were enabled to procure fresh-water and fuel ; 
and there were plenty of wild fowl and geese. The inhabitants 
were wretchedly poor and ignorant. 

On the 25th January 1778, having coasted it as far as CO 
degrees south, the land presenting the same uncouth appearance, 
covered with ice and snow, and the ship exposed to numerous 
storms, and the people to intense cold, the course was altered to 
look for Bouvet's Land ; but though they reached the spot where 
it was laid down on the charts, and sailed over and over it, yet 
no such place could be discovered; and after two days' search 
more to the southward, Cook came to the conclusion that Bouvet 
had been deceived by the ice, and once more bent his thoughts 
towards home — especially as the ship stood in need of repairs, and 
her sails and rigging were nearly worn out — and consequently 
steered for the Cape of Good Hope, where he heard of the Adven- 
ture, and anchored in Table Bay on the 22d March. From thence 
he sailed again on the 27th April, touched at St Helena on the 
15th ^lay, and remained till the 21st, and then got under weigh 
for Ascension, where he arrived on the 28th ; and from thence 
shaped a course for the remarkable island Fernando de Norouha, 

21 



LIFE OF CAPTAIN COOK. 

wliicli lie readied on the 9tli June ; and pursuing his ■way for 
the western islands, anchored in Fayal Roads on the 14th July, 
where Mr Wales the astronomer determined the position of the 
Azores by a series of observations. The Resolution ultimately 
entered Portsmouth on the 30th ; and Captain Cook landed after 
an absence of three years and eighteen days, having" sailed 
20,000 leagues in various climates — from the extreme of heat 
to the extreme of cold. But so judicious had been the arrange- 
ments for preserving health, and so carefully had Captain Cook 
attended to the ventilation between decks, and the mode of pro- 
moting warmth, as well as the food, &c. of the people, that 
he lost only one man by sickness. It may naturally be sup- 
posed that the wear and tear of the ship was great, her rigging 
scarcely trustworthy, and her sails unfit to meet a fresh breeze ; 
yet so careful were the officers of the masts and yards, that not a 
single spar of any consequence was carried away during the 
whole voyage. 

The fame of Captain Cook as a navigator, coupled with his 
marked humanity as a man, now exalted him in public esti- 
mation far beyond what he had before experienced; and the 
utmost anxiety prevailed to obtain intelligence relative to his 
discoveries, &c. The king, to testify his approbation, made him 
a post captain nine days subsequent to his arrival ; and three 
days afterwards, a captaincy in Greenwich Hospital was con- 
ferred upon him, to afford an honourable and competent retire- 
ment from active service. On the 29th February 1776 he was 
elected a member of the Royal Society, and in a short time he 
was honoured with the gold medal ; Sir John Pringle, in pre- 
senting- it, uttering a well-merited eulogium on the worthy 
receiver. The account of his second voyage was written by 
Captain Cook himself, and manifests a plain manly style, giving 
facts rather than embelUshments. 

cook's last voyage. 

The discovery of a supposed north-west passage from the 
North Atlantic to the North Pacific oceans had for many years 
been ardently sought for both by the English and the Dutch. 
Frobisher in 1576 made the first attempt, and his example was 
in succeeding times followed by many others. But though much 
geographical information had been gained in the neighbourhood 
of Hudson's Bay, Davis' Straits, Baffin's Bay, and the coast of 
Greenland, yet no channel whatever was found. By act of par-^ 
liament, £20,000 was offered to the successful indi^^dual. But 
though Captain IMiddleton in 1741, and Captains Smith and 
Moore in 1746, explored those seas and regions, the object re- 
mained unattained. The Honourable Captain Phipps (afterwards 
Earl Mulgrave) was sent out in the Racehorse, accompanied by 
Captain Lutwidge in the Carcase (Lord Nelson was a boy in tins 
latter ship), to make observations, and to penetrate as far as it 

22 



LIFE OF CAPTAIN COOK. 

Tras practicable to do so. They sailed on the 2d June 1773, and 
made Spitzbergen on the 28th ; but after great exertions, they 
found the ice to the northward utterly impenetrable. Once they 
became closely jammed, and it was only with great difficulty 
they escaped destruction. On the 22d Aug^ust, finding" it im- 
possible to g-et further to the northward, eastward, or westward, 
they made sail, according" to their instructions, for Eng'land, and 
arrived off Shetland on the 7th September. 

Kotwithstanding" these numerous failures, the idea of an exist- 
ing passage was still cherished ; and Earl Sandwich continuing" 
at the head of the Admiralty, resolved that a further trial should 
be made, and Captain Cook offered his services to undertake it. 
They were g"ladly accepted, and on the 10th February 1776 he 
"was appointed to command the expedition in his old but hardy 
ship, the Resolution, and Captain Gierke, in the Discovery, was 
ordered to attend him. In this instance, however, the mode of 
experiment was to be reversed, and instead of attempting" the 
former routes by Davis' Straits or Baffin's Bay, &c. Cook, at his 
own request, was instructed to proceed into the South Pacific, 
and thence to tiy the passage by the way of Behring's Straits ; 
and as it was necessary that the islands in the southern ocean 
should be revisited, cattle and sheep, with other animals, and all 
kinds of seeds, were shipped for the advantage of the natives. 

Every preparation having" been made, the Resolution quitted 
Plymouth on the 12th July (the Discovery was to follow), taking" 
Omai, the native brought from the Society Isles, with him. 
Having touched at Teneriffe, they crossed the equator on the 1st 
September, and reached the Cape on the 18th October, where the 
Discovery joined them on the 10th November. Whilst lying in 
Table Bay, the cattle were landed ; and some dogs getting into 
the pens, worried and killed several of the sheep, and dispersed 
the rest. Two fine rams and two ewes were lost ; but the two 
latter were recovered ; the others could not be got back. Captain 
Cook here made an addition to his stock, and, besides other ani- 
mals, purchased two young stallions and two mares. 

The ships sailed again on the 30th November, and encountered 
heavy gales, in which several sheep and goats died. On the 12th 
December they saw two large islands, which Cook named Prince 
Edward's Islands ; and three days afterwards several others were 
seen ; but having made Kerguelen's Land, they anchored in a 
convenient harbour on Christmas day. On the north side of 
this harbour one of the men found a quart bottle fastened to a 
projecting rock by stout wire, and on opening it, the bottle was 
ibund to contain a piece of parchment, on which was an in- 
scription purporting that the land had been visited by a French 
vessel in 1772-3. To this Cook added a notice of his own visit; 
the parchment was then returned to the bottle, and the cork being 
secured with lead, was placed upon a pile of stones near to the 
place from which it had been removed. The whole country was 

23 



LIFE OF CAPTAIN COOK. 

■extremely barren and desolate ; and on the 30th they came to the 
eastern extremity of Kerguelen's Land. To his great chagrin, 
whilst exploring the coast, Captain Cook lost through the in- 
tense cold two young hulls, one heifer, two rams, and several 
of the goats. 

On the 24th January 1777 they came in sight of Van Die- 
men's Land, and on the 26th anchored in Adventure Bay, where 
intercourse was opened with the natives, and Omai took every 
opportunity of lauding the great superiority of his friends the 
English. Here they obtained plenty of grass for the remaining 
cattle, and a supply of fresh provisions for themselves. On 
the 30th they quitted their port, convinced that Van Diemen's 
Land was the southern point of New Holland. Subsequent in- 
vestigations, however, have proved this idea to be erroneous ; 
Van Diemen's Land being an island separated from the main- 
land of Australia by Bass's Straits. 

On the r2th February Captain Cook anchored at his old 
station in Queen Charlotte's Sound, New Zealand; but the 
natives were very shy in approaching the ships, and none could 
be persuaded to come on board. The reason was, that on the 
former voyage, after parting- with the Resolution, the Adventure 
had visited this place, and ten of her crew had been killed in an 
unpremeditated skirmish Avith the natives. It was the fear of 
retaliatory punishment that kept them aloof. Captain Cook, 
however, soon made them easy upon the subject, and their fami- 
liarity was renewed; but great caution was used, to be fully 
prepared for a similar attack, by keeping the men well armed on 
all occasions. Of the animals left at this island in the former 
voyages, many were thriving ; and the gardens, though left in a 
state of nature, were found to contain cabbages, onions, le^ks, 
radishes, mustard, and a few potatoes. The captain was enabled 
to add to both. At the solicitation of Omai he received two New 
Zealand lads on board the Resolution, and by the 27th was clear 
of the coast. 

After landing at a number of islands, and not finding ^de 
quate sujDplies, the ships sailed for Anamocka, and the Reso 
lution was brought up in exactly the same anchorage that she had 
occupied three years before. The natives behaved in a most 
friendly manner, and but for their habits of stealing, quiet would 
have been uninterrupted. Nothing, however, could check this 
propensity, till Captain Cook shaved the heads of all whom he 
caught practising it. This rendered them an object of ridicule* 
to their countrymen, and enabled the English to recognise and 
keep them at a distance. Most of the Eriendly Isles were visited 
by the ships, and everywhere they met with a kind reception. 
On the 10th June they reached Tongataboo, where the king 
offered Captain Cook his house to reside in. Here he made a 
distribution of his animals amongst the chiefs, and the impor- 
tance of preserving them was exj^lained by Omai. A horse and 

24 



LIFE OF CAPTAIN COOK. 

mare, a bull and cow, several sheep and turkeys, were thus given 
away ; but two kids and two turkey-cocks having been stolen, 
the captain seized three canoes, put a guard over the chiefs, and 
insisted that not only the kids and turkeys should be restored 
but also everything that had been taken away since their arrival! 
This produced a good effect, and much of the plunder was 
returned. 

Captain Cook remained at the Friendly Islands nearly three 
months, and lived almost entirely during that period upon fresh 
provisions, occasionally eating- the produce of the seeds he had 
sown there in his former visits. On the 17th July they took 
their final leave of these hospitable people, and on the 12th August 
reached Otaheite, and took up a berth in Oaiti-piha Bay, which 
it was discovered had been visited by two Spanish ships since the 
Resolution had last been there. 

Animals of various kinds had been left in the country by the 
Spaniards, and the islanders spoke of them with esteem and 
respect. On the •24th the ships went round to Matavai Bay, and 
Captain Cook presented to the king, Otoo, the remainder of his live 
stock. There were already at Otoo's residence a remarkably fine 
bull and some goats that had been left by the Spaniards, and to 
these the captam added another bull, three cows, a horse and 
mare, and a number of sheep ; also a peacock and hen, a turkey- 
cock and hen, one gander and three geese, a drake and four 
ducks. The geese and ducks began to breed before the Eno-lish 
left the island. ° 

They here witnessed a human sacrifice, to propitiate the favour 
of their gods in a battle they were about to undertake. The 
victim was generally some strolling vagabond, who was not 
aware of his fate till the moment arrived, and he received his 
• 'death-blow from a club. For the purpose of showing the inhabi- 
tants the use of the horses, Captains Cook and Clerke rode into 
.4he country, to the great astonishment of the islanders ; and 
though this exercise was continued every day by some of the 
Resolution's people, yet the wonder of the natives never abated. 

On the return of Omai to the land of his birth, the reception 
he met with was not very cordial ; but the affection of his rela- 
tives was strong and ardent. Captain Cook obtained the erant 
of a piece of land for him on the west side of Owharre haAour 
Huaheine. The carpenters of the ships built him a small house' 
to which a garden was attached, planted with shaddocks vines' 
pme apples, melons, &c. and a variety of vegetables ; the whole of 
which were thriving before Captain Cook quitted the island. 
V\ hen the house was finished, the presents Omai had received 
in England were carried ashore, with every article necessary for 
domestic purposes, as well as two muskets, a bayonet, a brace of 
pistols, &c. 

The two lads brought from New Zealand were put on shore at 
this place, to form part of Omai's family; but it was with great 

25 



LIFE OF CAPTAIN COOK. 

reluctance tliat they quitted the voyagers, who had behaved so 
kindly to them. 

Whilst lying at Huaheine, a thief, who had caused them great 
trouble, not only had his head and beard shaved, but, in order 
to deter others, both his ears were cut oiF. On the 3d November 
the ships went to Ulietea, and here, decoyed by the natives, two 
or three desertions took place ; and as others seemed inclined to 
follow the example. Captain Gierke pursued the fugitives with 
two armed boats and a party of marines; but without effect. 
Captain Cook experienced a similar failure : he therefore seized 
upon the persons of the chief's son, daughter, and son-in-law, 
whom he placed under confinement till the people should be 
restored ; which took place on the 28th, and the hostages were 
released. One of the deserters was a midshipman of the Disco- 
very, and the son of a brave officer in the service. Schemes were 
projected by some of the natives to assassinate Captain Cook and 
Captain Clerke ; but though in imminent danger, the murderous 
plans failed. 

At Bolabola, Captain Cook succeeded in obtaining an anchor 
which had been left there by M. Bouganville, as he was very 
desirous of converting the iron into articles of traffic. They left 
this place on the 8th December, crossed the line, and on the 24th 
stopped at a small island, which he named Christmas Island, and 
where he planted cocoa-nuts, yams, and melon seeds, and left a 
bottle enclosing a suitable inscription. 

On the 2d January 1778 the ships resumed their voyage north- 
ward, to pursue the grand object in Behring's Straits. They 
passed several islands, the inhabitants of which, though at an 
•immense distance from Otaheite, spoke the same language. Those 
who came on board displayed the utmost astonishment at every- 
thing they beheld ; and it was evident they had never seen a 
ship before. The disposition to steal was equally strong in these 
as in the other South Sea islanders, and a man was killed who 
tried to plunder the watering party ; but this was not knoAvn to 
Captain Cook till after they had sailed. They also discovered 
that the practice of eating human flesh was prevalent. To a 
group of these islands (and they were generally found in clusters) 
Captain Cook gave the name of the Sandwich Islands, in honour 
of the noble earl at the head of the Admiralty. 

The voyage to the northward was continued on the 2d Feb- 
ruary, and the long-looked-for coast of New Albion was made on 
the 7th March, the ships being then in latitude 44 degrees 
33 minutes north ; and after sailing along it till the 29th, they 
came to an anchor in a small cove lying in latitude 49 decrees 
29 minutes north. A brisk trade commenced with the natives, 
who appeared to be well acquainted with the value of iron, for 
which they exchanged the skins of various animals, such as 
bears, wolves, foxes, deer, &c. both in then* original state and 
made up into garments. But the most extraordinary articles 

2G 



LIFE OF CAPTAIN COOK. 

were human skulls, and hands not quite stripped of the flesh, and 
"uhicli had the appearance of having* been recently on the fire. 
Thieving" was practised at this place in a more scientific manner 
than they had before remarked ; and the natives insisted upon 
being" paid for the wood and other thing's supplied to the ships ; 
with which Captain Cook scrupulously complied. This inlet was 
named King* George's Sound ; but it was afterwards ascertained 
that the natives called it Nootka Sound. After making* every 
requisite nautical observation, the ships bein^* ag-ain ready for 
sea on the 26th, in the evening" they departed, a severe g-ale of 
wind blowing" them away from the shore. From this period they 
examined the coast, under a hope of finding" some communication 
with the Polar Sea ; and one river they traced as high as lati- 
tude 61 degi'ees 30 minutes north, and which was afterwards 
named Cook's River. 

They left this place on the 6th June, but notwithstanding all 
their watchfulness and vigilance, no passage could be found. 
The ships ranged across the mouth of the straits in about latitude 
60 degrees, where the natives of the islands, by their manners, 
gave evident tokens of their being acquainted with Europeans — 
most probably Russian traders. They put in at Oonalaska and 
other places, which were taken possession of in the name of the 
king of England. On the 3d August Mr Anderson, surgeon of 
the Resolution, died from a lingering consumption, under which 
he had been suffering more than twelve months. He was a 
young man of considerable ability, and possessed an amiable dis- 
position. 

Proceeding to the northward. Captain Cook ascertained the 
relative positions of the two continents, Asia and America, whose 
extremities he observed. On the 18th they were close to a dense 
wall of ice, beyond which they could not penetrate, the latitude 
at this time being 70 degrees 44 minutes north. The ice here 
was from ten to twelve feet high, and seemed to rise higher in 
the distance. A prodigious number of sea-horses were crouching 
on the ice, some of which were procured for food. Captain Cook 
continued to traverse these icy seas till the 29th : he then ex- 
plored the coasts in Behring's Straits both in Asia and America ; 
and on the 2d of October again anchored at Oonalaska to refit ; 
and here they had communication with some Russians, who 
undertook to convey charts and maps, &c. to the English Admi- 
ralty ; which they faithfully fulfilled. On the 26th the ships 
quitted the harbour of Samganoodah, and sailed for the Sand- 
wich Islands ; Captain Cook purposing to remain there a few 
months, and then to return to Kamschatka. In latitude 20 de- 
grees 55 minutes, the island of Mowee was discovered on the 
26th of November ; and on the 30th they fell in with another, 
called by the natives Owhyhee ; and being of large extent, the 
ships were occupied nearly seven weeks in sailing round it, and 
examining the coast j and they found the islanders more frank 

27 



I.IFE OF CAPTAIN COOK. 

and free from suspicion than any tliey had yet had intercourse 
with ; so that on the 16th January 1779 there were not fewer 
than a thousand canoes about the two ships, most of them crowded 
"vvith people, and well laden with hogs and other productions of 
the place. A robbery having- been committed, Captain Cook 
ordered a volley of musketry and four great guns to be fired 
over the canoe that contained the thief; but this seemed only to 
astonish the natives, without creating any great alarm. On the 
17th the ships anchored in a bay called by the islanders Kara- 
kakooa. The natives constantly thronged to the ships, whose 
decks consequently, being at all times crowded, allowed of pilfer- 
ing without fear of detection; and these practices, it is conjec- 
tured, were encouraged by the chiefs. A great number of the 
hogs purchased were killed and salted down so completely, that 
some of it was good at Christmas 1780. On the 26th Captain 
Cook had an interview with Terreeoboo, king- of the islands, in 
which great formality was observed, and an exchange of presents 
took place, as well as an exchange of names. The natives were 
extremely respectful to Cook ; in fact, they paid him a sort of 
adoration, prostrating themselves before him ; and a society of 
priests furnished the ships with a constant supply of hogs and 
vegetables, without requiring any return. On the 3d Februar}--^ 
the day previous to the ships sailing, the king presented them 
with an immense quantity of cloth, many boat-loads of vege- 
tables, and a whole herd of hogs. The ships sailed on the follow- 
ing day, but on the 6th encountered a very heavy gale, in which, 
on the night of the 7th, the Resolution sprung the head of her 
foremast in such a dangerous manner, that they were forced to 
put back to Karakakooa Bay in order to get it repaired. Here 
they anchored on the morning of the 11th, and everything for 
a time promised to go well in their intercourse with the natives. 
The friendliness manifested by the chiefs, however, was far from 
sohd. They were savages at a low point of cultivation, and 
theft and murder were not considered by them in the light of 
crimes. Cook, aware of the nature of these barbarians, was 
anxious to avoid any collision, and it was with no small regret 
that he found that an aiFray had taken place between some sea- 
men and the natives. The cause of the distm*bance was the 
seizure of the cutter of the Discovery as it lay at anchor. The 
boats of both ships were sent in search of her, and Captain Cook 
went on shore to prosecute the inquiry, and, if necessary, to 
seize the person of the king, who had sanctioned the theft. 

The narrative of what ensued is afFectingly tragical. Cook 
left the Resolution about seven o'clock, attended by the lieu- 
tenant of marines, a sergeant, a corporal, and seven private 
men. The pinnace's crew were likewise armed, and under the 
command of Mr Roberts ; the launch was also ordered to assist 
his own boat. He landed with tlie marines at the upper end of 
the town of Kavoroah, where the natives receivea him with 

28 



LIFE OF CAPTAIN COOK. 

their .accustomed tokens of respect, and not the smallest sign 
of hostility was evinced by an}^ of them ; and as the crowds 
increased, the chiefs employed themselves as before in keeping' 
order. Captain Cook requested the king to go on board the 
■Resolution with him, to which he offered few objections; but 
in a little time it was observed that the natives were arming 
themselves with long spears, clubs, and daggers, and putting on 
the thick mats which tliey used by way of armour. This hostile 
appearance was increased by the arrival of a canoe from the 
opposite side of the bay, announcing that one of the chiefs had 
been killed by a shot from the Discovery's boat. The women, 
who had been conversing familiarly with the English, imme- 
diately retired, and loud murmurs arose amongst the crowd. 
Captain Cook perceiving the tumultuous proceedings of the 
natives, ordered Lieutenant Middleton to march his marines 
down to the boats, to which the islanders offered no obstruction. 
The captain followed with the king, attended by his wife, two 
sons, and several chiefs. One of the sons had already entered 
the pinnace, expecting his father to follow, when the king's wife 
and others hung round his neck, and forced him to be seated near 
a double canoe, assuring him that he would be put to death if he 
went on board the ship. 

"Whilst matters were in this position, one of the chiefs was seen 
with a dagger partly concealed under his cloak lurking about 
Captain Cook, and the lieutenant of marines proposed to fire at 
him; but this the captain would not permit; but the chief closing 
upon them, the officer of marines struck him with his firelock. 
Another native grasping the sergeant's musket, was forced to 
let it go by a blow from the lieutenant. Ca}.tain Cook, seeing 
the tumult was increasing', observed, that " if he were to force the 
king off, it could only be done by sacrificing the lives of many of 
his people;" and was about to give orders to re-embark, when a 
man flung a stone at him, which he returned by discharging small 
shot from one of the barrels of his piece. The man was but little 
Imrt ; and brandishing his spear, with threatenings to hurl it at 
the captain, the latter, uuAvilling to fire with ball, knocked the 
fellov/ down, and then warmly expostulated with the crowd for 
their hostile conduct. At this moment a man was observed be- 
hind a double canoe in the act of darting a spear at Captain 
Cook, who promptly fired, but killed another who was standing 
b3' his side. The sergeant of marines, however, instantly pre- 
sented, and brought down the native whom the captain had 
missed. The impetuosit}' of the islanders was somewhat re- 
pressed ; but being pushed on l)y those in the rear, who were igno- 
rant of what was passing in front, a volley of stones was poured 
in amongst the marines, who, without waiting for orders, re- 
turned it with a general discharge of musketry, which was 
directly succeeded by a brisk fire from the boats. Captain Cook 
expressed much surprise and vexation : he waved his hand for 

so 



LIFE OF CAPTAIN COOK. 

the boats to cease firing", and to come on shore to embark the 
marines. The pinnace unhesitating-ly obeyed ; but the lieutenant 
in the launch, instead of pulling in to the assistance of his com- 
mander, rowed further off at the very moment that the services 
of himself and people were most required. Nor was this all the 
mischief that ensued; for, as it devolved upon the pinnace to 
receive the marines, she became so crowded, as to render the men 
incapable of using their firearms. The marines on shore, how- 
ever, fired ; but the moment their pieces were discharged, the 
islanders rushed en masse upon them, forced the party into the 
water, where four of them were killed, and the lieutenant 
wounded. At this critical period Captain Cook was left entirely 
alone upon a rock near the shore. He, however, hurried towards 
the pinnace, holding- his left arm round the back of his head, to 
shield it from the stones, and carrjdng his musket under his 
right. An islander, armed with a club, was seen in a crouching 
posture cautiously following him, as if watching for an opportu- 
nity to spring forward upon his victim. This man was a relation of 
the king's, and remarkably agile and quick. At length he jumped 
forward upon the captain, and struck him a heavy blow on the 
back of his head, and then turned and fled. The captain appeared 
to be somewhat stunned. He staggered a few paces, and, drop- 
ping' his musket, fell on his hands and one knee; but w^hilst 
striving to recover his upright position, another islander rushed 
forward, and with an iron dagger stabbed him in the neck. He 
again made an effort to proceed, but fell into a small pool of 
water not more than knee-deep, and numbers instantly ran to 
the spot, and endeavoui^ed to keep him down ; but by his 
struggles he was enabled to get his head above the surface, and 
casting a look towards the pinnace (then not more than five or 
six yards distant), seemed to be imploring assistance. It is 
asserted that, in consequence of the crowded state of the pinnace 
(through the withdrawal of the launch), the crew of that boat 
were unable to render any aid : but it is also probable that the 
emergency of this unexpected catastrophe deprived the English 
of that cool judgment which was requisite on such an occasion. 
The islanders, perceiving that no help was afforded, forced him 
under water again, but in a deeper place ; yet his great muscular 
power once more enabled him to raise himself and cling to the 
rock. At this moment a forcible blow was given with a club, and 
he fell down lifeless. The savages then hauled his corpse upon 
the rock, and ferociously stabbed the body all over, snatching 
the dagger from each others' hands to wreak their sanguinary 
vengeance on the slain. The body was left some time exposed 
upon the rock ; and as the islanders gave way, through terror at 
their own act and the fire from the boats, it might have been 
recovered entire. But no attempt of the kind was made ; and it 
was afterwards, together with the marines, cut up, and the parts 
distributed amongst the chiefs. The mutilated fragments were 

30 



LIFE OF CAPTAIN COOK. 

subsequently restored, and committed to the deep ^v^th all the 
honours due to the rank of the deceased. Thus (February 14 
1//9) perished m an inglorious brawl with a set of sava^e^on^ 
of Eng'land's greatest navigators, whose services to science have 
never been suiyassed by any man belonging to his profesfiol 
It may almost be said that he fell a victiS to^his humanity ?^; 
If, mstead of retreating before his barbarous pursuers with a 
view to spare their lives, he had turned revengel^nrZn th^^^ 
his fate might have been veiy different. "^ ^ ' 

+T. ^^"^^^^^ of their commander was felt to be a heavy blow h^ 
the officers and seamen of the expedition. With dZ loTro^ 
the ships' companies left Owhyhee where fhl l^^o.T^ t i^ 
occurred, the cLmand of the ^e^n^^ci^^^l^^^^^ 
Gierke, and Mr Gore acting as commander of th^'e Discovery 
After making some further exploratory searches amonrtZ* 
Sandwich Islands, the vessels visited Kamschatkf andTehWs 
Straits Here it was found impossible to penetrate through f?! 
ice either on the coast of America or that aTTIo ^^i°"f ^^^he 

Gierke died of consumption, and was succeeded by cSn 
Gore who m his turn gave Lieutenant Kin.- an acting oX^^ 
the Discovery. After a second visit to KLschatka^tbp i^ 
tTf "'Tri\ ".^^ '^ ^^^-^' remained Zetfm'e a^ Can 
1780 ?ft'^ '* ?' ^^^^ "^^ ^''^^'^ ^t t^e Nore, 4th OctoW 
1/80, after an absence of four years, two months and twenty 
two days, during which the Resolut on lost only five mTn W 
sickness, and the Discovery did not lose a single ^an "^ ^^ 

By this, as well as the preceding voyages of Cook a mr^^^r^.r. 
able addition was made to a knowled^ of the earthVsur^^^^^^ 

The mtellig:ence of Captain Cook's death was received with 
the indrrThe%'^^aT'fe;haf1 W^Zlh^ ^ 

even all this fame-than either the honours which he received 



LIFE OF CAPTAIN COOK. 

•while living*, or those -wliicli. when he was no more, his country 
and mankind bestowed upon his memory — he had exalted him- 
self in the scale of moral and intellectual heing- ; had won for 
himself, by his unwearied striving', a new and nobler nature, and 
taken a high place among the instructors and best benefactors of 
mankind. This alone is true happiness — the one worthj'^ end of 
human exertion or ambition — the only satisfying reward of all 
labour, and study, and virtuous activity or endurance. Among" 
the shipmates with whom Cook mixed when he first went to sea, 
there was perhaps no one who ever either raised himself above 
the condition to which he then belonged in point of outward cir- 
cumstances, or enlarged in any considerable degree the knowledge 
or mental resources he then possessed. And some will perhaps say 
that this was little to be regretted, at least on their own account ; 
that the many who spent their lives in their original sphere 
were probably as happy as the one who succeeded in rising above 
it : but this is, indeed, to cast a hasty glance on human life and 
human nature. That man was never truly happy — hapjjy upon 
reflection, and while looking to the past or the future — who could 
not say to himself that he had made something of the faculties 
God gave him, and had not lived altogether without progression, 
like one of the inferior animals. We do not speak of mere wealth 
or station ; these are comparatively nothing ; are as often missed 
as attained, even by those who best merit them ; and do not of 
themselves constitute happiness when they are possessed. But 
there must be some consciousness of an intellectual or moral 
progress, or there can be no satisfaction, no self-congratulation 
on reviewing what of life may be already gone, no hope in the 
prospect of what is yet to come. All men feel this, and feel it 
strongly ; and if they could secure for themselves the source of 
happiness in question by a wish, would avail themselves of the 
privilege with sufficient "^alacrity. Nobody would pass his life in 
ignorance, if knowledge might be had by merely looking up to 
the clouds for it : it is the labour necessary for its acquirement 
that scares them ; and this labour they have not resolution to 
encounter. Yet it is, in truth, from the exertion by which it 
must be obtained that knowledge derives at least half its value ; 
for to this entirely we owe the sense of merit in ourselves which 
the acquisition brings along with it; and hence no little of the 
happiness of which we have just described its possession to be the 
source : besides that, the labour itself soon becomes an enjoy- 
ment." Let these observations meet with a ready reception 
among youth, in whatever rank in life. Honour and fame are 
not to" be achieved by seeking for them alone, nor are their pos- 
session the end and aim of human existence. It is only by an 
unwearied striving after a new and nobler nature ; only by being 
useful to our fellows, and making the most of those qualities of 
mind which God has given us, that happiness is to be attained, 
or that we fulfil the ends of our being. 





ANECDOTES OF THE HORSE. 

HE horse is universally acknowledg'ed to be one of 
the noblest members of the animal king-clom. Pos- 
C sessing- the finest symmetry, and unencumbered by 
those external appendages which characterise many 
--,.-, ^. the larg-er quadrupeds, his frame is a perfect model 
^Jq^ of eleg-ance and concentrated energ-y. Highly sensitire, 
^^f y^^ exceedingly tractable, proud, yet persevering-, natu- 
\j rally of a roaming- disposition, yet readily accommodating- 
himself to domestic conditions, he has been one of the most 
%-aluable aids to human civilisation — associating- with man in 
ail phases of his prog-ress from the temporary tent to the per- 
manent city. 

By his ph3\sical structure, the horse is fitted for dry open 
plains that jield a short sweet herbage. His hoof is not adapted 
to the swamp ; and though he may occasionally be seen brows- 
ing- on tender shoots, yet he could subsist neither in the jungle 
nor in the forest. His lips and teeth, however, are admirably 
form^ed for cro])ping- the shortest grass, and thus he luxuriates 
where many other herbivorous animals would starve, provided 
be be supplied with water, of which he is at all times a liberal 
drinker. He cannot crush his food like tlie hippopotamus, nor 
does he ruminate like the ox ; but he grinds the herbage with 
a. peculiar lateral motion of the jaw, which looks not unlike the 
action of a millstone. Delig-hting- in the river-plain and open 
g-lade, the savannahs of America, the steppes of Asia, and the 
plains of Eurojie, must be reg-arded as his head-quarters in a wild 
state. There is doubt expressed, however, as to the original 
No. 41. 1 



ANECDOTES OF THE HORSE. 

locality of the horse. The wild herds of America are looked upon 
as the descendants of Spanish breeds imported by the first con- 
querors of that continent ; those of the Ukraine, in Europe, are 
said to be the progeny of Russian horses abandoned after the 
siege of Azoph in 1696 ; and even those of Tartary are regarded 
as coming' from a more southern stock. Naturalists therefore look 
to the countries bordering on Egypt, as in all likelihood the pri- 
mitive place of residence of this noble animal ; and there is no 
doubt that the Arabian breed, when perfectly pure, presents the 
finest specimen of a horse in symmetry, docility, and courage. 
Regarding the horse as of Asiatic origin, we now find him asso- 
ciated with man in almost every region of the habitable globe. 
Like the dog, ox, sheep, and a few others of the brute creation,- 
he seems capable of accommodating himself to very different 
conditions, and assumes a shaggy coat or a sleek skin, a size little 
inferior to that of the elephant, or not larger than that of an Eng- 
lish mastiff, just as circumstances of climate and food require.* 

In a state of nature, the horse loves to herd with his fellows, 
and droves of from four to five hundred, or even double that 
number, are not unfrequently seen, if the range be wide and fertile. 
The members of these vast droves are inoffensive in their habits, 
and when not startled or hunted, are rather playful and frolic- 
some ; now scouring the plain in groups for mere amusement, 
now suddenly stopping, pawing the soil, then snorting, and off 
straight as an arrow, or wheeling in circles — making the ground 
shake with their wild merriment. It is impossible to conceive 
a more animated picture than a group of wild horses at play. 
Their fine figui'es are thro\vn into a thousand attitudes ; and 
as they rear, curvette, dilate the nostril, paw in quivering ner- 
vousness to begin the race, or speed away with erect mane and 
flowing tail, they present forms of life and energy which the 
painter may strive in vain to imitate. They seldom shift their 
stations, unless compelled by failure of pasture or water ; and thus 
they acquire a boldness and confidence in their haunts which it 

* In ordinary systems of zoology, the horse is classed with the PcuiJiy- 
derms, or thick-skinned animals, as the ek']ihant, tapir, hog, hippopotamus, 
and rliinoceros. Differing from the rest of the class in many respects, he 
has been taken as the representative of a distinct family known by the 
name of lujuidcB (er/iuis, a horse), which embraces the horse, ass, zebra, 
quagga, onagga, and dzcgg-uctai. All these animals have solid hoofs, are 
destitute of horns, have moderately-sized ears, are less or more furnished 
with manes, and have their tails either partially or entirely covered with 
long hair. The family may, with little impropriety, be divided into two 
sections — the one com{)reiiending the horse and its varieties, and the 
other the ass, zebra, and remaining members. In the former, the tail is 
adorned witli long flowing hair, themane is also long and flowing, and the 
fetlocks are buslVy ; the latter have the tail only tipped with long hair, 
the mane erect, and the legs smooth and naked. The colours of the horse 
have a tendency to </aj)f)/e—thsit is, to arrange themselves in rounded spots 
on a conmion ground ; in the ass, zebra, and other genera, the colours are 
arranged in stripes more or less parallel. 
2 



ANECDOTES OF THE HOIISE. 

is rather unsafe to disturb. They never attack other animals, 
however, but always act upon the defensive. Having* pastured, 
they retire eitlier to the confines of the forest, or to some elevated 
portion of the ])lain, and recline on the sward, or hnn^- listlessly 
on their leg's for hours tog-ether. One or more of their number 
are always awake to keep watch while the rest are asleep, and to 
warn them of approaching" danger, which is done by snorting" 
loudly, or neighing*. Upon this signal the whole troop start to 
their feet, and either reconnoitre the enemy, or fly off with the 
swiftness of the wind, followed by the sentinel and by the older 
stallions. Byron has happily described the manners of a herd 
surprised by the arrival of Mazeppa and his fainting charger on 
their pastures : — 

" They stop — they start — they snuff the air, 
Gallop a moment here and there, 
Api)roach, retire, wheel round and round, 
Tlien jiltuiging back with sudden bound, 
Headed by one black mighty steed, 
AVlio seemed the patriarch of his breed, 

"Without a single speck or hair 
Of white upon his shaggy hide ; 
They snort— they foam — neigh — swerve aside, 
And backward to the forest fly, 
By instinct, from a human eye." 

They are seldom to be taken by surprise ; but if attacked, the 
assailant seldom comes off victorious, for the whole troop unite 
in defence of their comrades, and either tear him to pieces with 
their teeth, or kick him to death. 

There is a remarkable difference in the dispositions of the 
Asiatic and South American wild horses. Those of the former 
continent can never be properly tamed, unless trained very 
young-, but frequently break out into violent fits of rag-e in after 
life, exhibiting- every mark of natural wildness ; while those of 
America can be brought to perfect obedience, and even rendered 
somewhat docile, within a few weeks, nay, sometimes days. It 
would be difficult to account for this opposition of temper, unless 
"we can suppose that it is influenced by climate, or rather to the 
transmission of domesticated peculiarities from the orig-inal 
Spanish stock. 

CATCHING THE WILD HOIISE. 

As in South America we have the most numerous herds, and 
the most extensive plains for their pasture, so it is there that the 
catching- and subduing of the wild norse presents one of the most 
daring- and exciting* engagements. If an additional horse is 
want^-d, a wild one is either hunted down with the assistance of 
a trained animal and the lassOj or a herd are driven into a corral 
(a space enclosed with rough posts), and one selected from the 
number. The latter mode is spiritedly described by Miers, whose 
account we transcribe, premising* that a la^sso is a strong* plaited 

3 



A^'ECDOTES OF THE HORSE. 

thong*, about forty feet in length, rendered supple by g'rease, and 
having- a noose at the end : — " The corral was quite full of horses, 
most of which were young' ones about two or three years old. 
The chief g-uacho (native inhabitants of the plains are called 
peons or g'uachos), mounted on a strong steady animal, rode into 
the enclosure, and threw his lasso over the neck of a young- horse, 
and drag-g-ed him to the g-ate. For some time he was very un- 
willino" to leave his com.rades, but the moment he was forced out 
of the corral, his first idea was to gallop off; however, a timely 
Jerk of the lasso checked him in the most effectual way. 'i'he 
peons now ran after him on foot, and threw a lasso over his fore- 
kg-s, just above the fetlock, and, twitching* it, they pulled his legs 
from under him so suddenly, that I really thoug-ht the fall he 
had Q'ot had killed him. In an instant a <>-uacho was seated on 
his head, and with his long knile cut off the whole of the 
mane, while another cut the hair from the end of his tail. This 
they told me was a mark that the horse had once been mounted. 
They then put a piece of hide into his mouth, to serve for a bit, 
and a strong- hide halter on his head. The g-uacho who was to 
mount arranged his spurs, which were unusually long* and sharp ; 
and while tAvo men held the horse by the ears, he put on the 
saddle, which he girthed extremely tig'ht. He then caught hold 
of the animal's ear, and in an instant vaulted into the saddle, 
upon which the men who held the halter threw the end to 
the rider, and from that moment no one seemed to take any 
further notice of him. The horse instantly beg-an to jump in 
a manner which made it very difficult for the rider to keep his 
seat, and quite different from the kick or plunge of our Eng-lish 
steed : however, the g-uacho's spurs soon set him going, and off 
he galloped, doing* everything- in his power to throw his rider. 

'' Another horse was immediately brought from the corral, and 
so quick was the operation, that twelve guachos were mounted 
in a space which I think hardly exceeded an hour. It was won- 
derful to see the different manner in which different horses be- 
haved. Some would actually scream while the guachos were 
girthing the saddle upon their backs ; some would instantly lie 
down and roll upon it ; while some would stand without being- 
held, their legs stiff and in unnatural positions, their necks half 
bent towards their tails, and looking vicious and obstinate ; and 
I could not help thinking that I would not have mounted one of 
those for any reward that could be offered me, for the^^ were in- 
variably the most difficult to subdue. 

'- It was now curious to look around and see the guachos on the 
horizon, in different directions, trying to bring their horses back 
to the corral, which is the most difficult part of their work ; for 
the poor creatures had been so scared there, that they were un- 
willing to return to the place. It was amusing to see the antics 
of the horses ; they were jumping and dancing in various ways, 
while the right arm of the guachos was seen flogging them. 

4 



ANECDOTES OF THE HORSE. 

At last they brought the horses hack, apparently subdued and 
broken in. The saddles and bridles were taken off, and the 
animals trotted towards the corral, neighing to one another." 

To hunt down the horse in the open plain, requires still 
greater address, and greater strength of arm. According to* 
Captain Hall, the guaclio first mounts a steed which has been 
accustomed to the sport, and gallops him over the plain in the 
direction of the wild herd, and, circling round, endeavours to 
get close to such a one as he thinks will answer his purpose. As 
.soon as he has approached sufficiently near, the lasso is thrown 
round the two hind-legs, and as the guacho rides a little on one 
side, the jerk pulls the entangled horse's feet laterally, so as to 
throw him on his side, without endangering his knees or his 
face. Before the horse can recover the shock, the hunter dis- 
mounts, and, snatching his jmncho or cloak from his shoulders, 
wraps it round the prostrate animal's head. He then forces into 
his mouth one of the powerful bridles of the country, straps a 
saddle on his back, and, bestriding him, removes the poncho, 
upon which the astonished horse springs on his legs, and endea- 
vours by a thousand vain efforts to disencumber himself of his 
new master, who sits composedly on his back, and, b}'' a disci- 
pline which never fails, reduces the animal to such complete obe- 
dience, that he is soon trained to lend his whole speed and strength 
to the capture of his companions. 

DOMESTICATION. 

The subduing of wild specimens in America, the Ukraine, 
Tartary, and other regions, must be regarded as merely supjDle- 
mentary to that domestication which the horse has undergone 
from the remotest antiquity. A wild adult may be subjugated, but 
can never be thoroughly trained ; even the foal of a wild mother, 
though taught with the greatest care from the day of its birth, 
is found to be inferior to domestic progeny in point of steadiness 
and intelligence. Parents, it would seem, transmit to their 
offspring mental susceptibility as well as corporeal symmetry ; 
and thus, to form a just estimate of equine qualities, we must 
look to the domesticated breeds of civilised nations. At what 
period the horse was first subjected to the purposes of man, we 
nave no authentic record. He is mentioned by the oldest writers, 
and it is probable that his domestication was nearly coeval with 
the earliest state of society. Trimmed and decorated chargers 
appear on Egyptian monuments more than four thousand years 
old ; and on sculptures equally, if not more ancient, along the 
banks of the Euphrates. One of the oldest books of Scri})ture 
contains the most powerful description of the war-horse ; Joseph 
gave the Egj'-ptians bread in exchange for horses ; and the 
people of Israel are said to have gone out under Joshua against 
hosts armed with "horses and chariots very many." At a later 
date, Solomon is said to have obtained horses " out of Eirvpt, and 

5 



ANECDOTES OE THE HORSE. 

out of all lands," and to have had " four thousand stalls for 
horses and chariots, and twelve thousand horsemen," Thus we 
find that in the plains of the Euphrates, Nile, and Jordan, the horse 
was early the associate of man, bearing- him with rapidity from 
place to place, and aiding- in the carnag-e and tumult of battle. 
He does not appear, however, to have been employed in the more 
useful arts of ag-riculture and commerce; these supposed drudgeries 
being- imposed on the more patient ox, ass, and camel. Even in 
refined Greece and Rome, he was merely yoked to the war-chariot, 
placed under the saddle of the soldier, or trained for the race- 
course. 

As civilisation spread westward over Europe, the demands 
upon the strength and endurance of the horse were multiplied, 
and in time he was called upon to lend his shoulder indiscrimi- 
nately to the carriage and wag-on, to the mill, plough, and other 
implements of husbandry. It is in this servant-of-all-work 
capacity'' that we must now reg'ard him ; and certainly a more 
docile, stead}'', and willing- assistant it w'ould be impossible to 
find. But it is evident that the ponderous shoulder and firm 
step necessary for the w^agon would not be exactly the thing 
for the mail-coach ; nor w'ould the slow and steady draught, so 
valuable in the plough, be any recommendation to the hunter or 
roadster. For these varied purposes men have selected different 
stocks, which either exist naturally, or have been produced by a 
long-continued and careful system of breeding-. In a state of 
nature, the horse assumes various qualities in point of symmetry, 
size, streng-th, and fleetness, according to the conditions of soil, 
food, and climate which he enjoys. It is thus that we have the 
Arabian, Tartar, Ukraine, Shetland, and other stocks, each differ- 
ing- so widely from the others, that the merest novice could not 
possibly confound them. Besides these primitive stocks, a 
thousand breeds, as they are called, have been produced by do- 
mestication, so that at the present time it would require volumes 
even for their enumeration. In our own country, for example, 
we have such breeds as the Flanders, Norman, Cleveland, Suffolk, 
Galloway, Clydesdale, and Shetland ; and of these numerous 
varieties, as may be required for the turf, the road, the cart, or 
the carriage. All this exhibits the w^onderful ductility of the 
horse, and proves how admirabl}'' he is adapted to be the com- 
panion and assistant of man, as the latter spreads himself over 
the tenantable regions of the g-lobe. It is to the character of the 
horse thus domesticated that we intend to devote the rest of this 
sheet ; to his intellectual and moral, rather than to his physical 
qualities; to those traits of spirit and daring, of aptitude, prudence, 
memory, and affection, with which his liistory abounds. 

COURAGE. 

Courage and unshrinkini^ firmness have ever been attributes 
of the horse. The mag-nihcent description g-iven in the book 
6 



ANECDOTES OF THE HORSE. 

of Job, must he familiar to eveiy one : — " Hast thou given the 
horse streng-th ? hast thou clothed his neck with thunder ? canst 
thou make him afraid as a g-rasshopper ? — the g'loiy of his 
streng-th is terrible. He paweth in the valley, and rejoiceth in 
his strength ; he goeth on to meet the armed men. He mocketh 
at fear, and is not affrighted ; neither turneth he back from 
the sword ; the quiver rattleth against him — the glittering spear 
and the shield. He swalloweth the ground with fierceness and 
rage ; neither believeth he that it is the sound of the trumpet. 
He saith among the trumpets. Ha ! ha ! and he smelleth the 
battle afar off, the thunder of the captains, and the shouting." 
It is asserted that horses with a broad after-head, and the ears 
far asunder, are naturally bolder than those whose head is 
naiTow above the forelock. This assertion is in all probability 
correct, for there is no reason why cerebral development should 
not influence the character of a horse as well as that of a man ; 
but much, too, depends upon judicious training. Some, says 
Colonel Smith, habituated to war, will drop their head, pick 
at grass in the midst of fire, smoke, and the roar of cannon ; 
others never entirely cast off their natural timidity. We have 
witnessed them groaning, or endeavouring to lie down when 
they found escape impossible, at the fearful sound of shot, 
shrapnell-shells, and rockets ; and it was painful to witness their 
look of terror in battle, and to hear their groans upon being 
wounded. Yet many of the terrified animals, when let loose at 
a charge, dash forward in a kind of desperation that makes it 
difficult to hold them in hand ; and we recollect, at a charge in 
1794 — when the light-dragoon horse was larger than at present, 
and the French were wretchedly mounted — a party of British 
bursting through a hostile squadron as they would have passed 
through a fence of rushes. 

The horse, though naturally afraid of the lion, tiger, and other 
feline animals, has often sufficient confidence in a firm rider and 
his own courage to overcome this timidity, and to join in the 
attack. This was conspicuously evinced in the case of an Arab 
possessed by the late Sir Robert Gillespie, and noticed in the 
Naturalists' Library. Sir Robert being present on the race- 
course of Calcutta during one of the great Hindoo festivals, when 
many thousands are assembled to witness all kinds of shows, was 
suddenly alarmed by the shrieks and commotion of the crowd. 
On being informed tbat a tiger had escaped from his keepers, he 
immediately called for his horse, and y^rasning a boar-spear from 
one of the bystanders, rode to attack tnis formidable enemy. The 
tiger, probably, was amazed at finding himself in the middle of 
such a number of shrieking beings, flying from him in all direc- 
tions ; but the moment he perceived Sir Robert, he crouched in 
the attitude of preparing to spring at him, and that instant the 
gallant soldier passed his horse in a leap over the tiger's back, and 
struck the speai* through his spine. Here, instead of swerving, 

7 



ANECDOTES OF THE HORSE. 

the noble animal went rig'ht over his formidable enemy "vvitli a 
Urmness that enabled the rider to use his lance with precision. 
This steed was a small gray, and was afterwards sent home as a 
present to the prince reg-ent. 

M. Arnauld, in his History of Animals, relates the following 
incident of ferocious coiirag-e in a mule. This animal belong-ed 
to a g-entleman in Florence, and became so vicious and refractory, 
that he not onh'- refused to submit to any kind of labour, but 
actually attacked with his heels and teeth those who attempted 
to compel liim. Wearied with such conduct, his master resolved 
to make away with him, by exposing- him to the wild beasts in 
the menagerie of the grand duke. For this purpose he was first 
placed in the dens of the hyenas and tigers, all of whom he 
would have soon destroyed, had he not been speedilj^ removed. 
At last he was handed over to the lion, but the mule, instead of 
exhibiting any S3^mptoms of alarm., quietly receded to a corner, 
keeping' his front op})osed to his adversary. Once planted in the 
corner, he resolutely kept his place, ej^eing every movement of 
the lion, which was preparing to spring upon him. The lion, how- 
ever, perceiving" the difficulty of an attack, practised all his wiles 
to throw the mule off his guard, but in vain. At length the latter, 
perceiving an opportunity, made a sudden rush upon the lion, 
and in an instant broke several of his teeth by the stroke of his 
fore-feet. The " king of the animals," as he has been called, finding 
that he had got quite enough of the combat, slunk gi'umbling to 
his cage, and left the hardy mule master of the battle. 

As may be readily supposed, the intrepidity of the horse is 
often of signal service in the cause of humanity, commanding at 
once our esteem and admiration. We know of no instance in 
which his assistance was so successfully rendered as in that which 
once occurred at the Cape of Good Hope, and which is related by 
M. De Pages in his " Travels Round the World." " I should 
have found it difficult," saj^s he, " to give it credit, had it not 
happened the evening before my arrival ; and if, besides the 
public notoriety of the fact, I had not been an e3^e-witness of 
those vehement emotions of sympathy, blended Avith admiration, 
which it had justly excited in the mind of every individual at the 
Cc'.pe. A violent gale of wind setting in from north-north-west, 
a vessel in the road dragged her anchors, was forced on the rocks, 
and bulged ; and while the greater part of the crew fell an imme- 
diate sacrifice to the waves, the remainder were seen fi'om the 
shore struggling for their lives, by cling-ing to the different 
pieces of the A^-reck. The sea ran dreadfully high, and broke over 
the sailors with such amazing fury, that no boat whatever could 
venture off to their assistance. Meanwhile a planter, considerably 
advanced in life, had come from his farm to be a spectator of the 
shipwreck; his heart was melted at the sight of the unhappy 
seamen, and knowing the bold and enterprising spirit, of his 
liorse, and his particular excellence as a swimmer, "he instantly 

8 



ANECDOTES OF THE HORSE. 

determined to make a desperate effort for their deliverance. He 
alig-lited, and blew a little brandy into his horse's nostrils, when 
ag-ain seating' himself in the saddle, he instantlj"- pushed into the 
midst of the breakers. At first both disappeared ; but it was not 
long' before they floated on the surface, and swam up to the 
wreck, when, taking- with him two men, each of whom held by 
one of his boots, he brought them safe to shore. This perilous 
expedition he repeated no seldomer than seven times, and saved 
fourteen lives to the public ; but, on his return the eighth time, 
his horse being* much fatigued, and meeting a most formidable 
wave, he lost his balance, and was overwhelmed in a moment. 
The horse swam safely to land ; but his gallant rider, alas ! was 
no more." 

Occasionally, there is so much sagacity and affection combined 
with the intrepidity of the horse, that his conduct would do 
credit even to the bravest human nature. Like the dog, he has 
been known to swim to the assistance of a drowning creature, 
and this without any other impulse than that of his own gene- 
rous feelings. Captain Thomas Brown, in his interesting Bio- 
graphical Sketches of the Horse — a work to which we are in- 
debted for several of the facts here recorded — mentions the follow- 
ing gratifying incident, which proves the possession of something 
more than mere unreasoning instinct : — A little girl, the daughter 
of a gentleman in Warwickshire, playing on the banks of a canal 
which runs through his grounds, had the misfortune to fall in, 
and would in all probability have been drowned, had not a small 
pony, which had been long kept in the family, plunged into the 
stream and brought the child safely ashore without the slightest 
injury. 

TLEETNESS, STRENGTH, A.XD ENDURA.NCE. 

Although fleetness, strength, and power of endurance are 
strict]}' physical properties, yet they depend so intimatel}'- upon 
courage, emulation, and other moral qualities, that we cannot 
do better than consider them in this place. Taken separately, 
a greater degree of swiftness or of strength may be found in 
certain other animals, but in none are all these properties so 
fully and perfectly developed as in the horse. And what is also 
remarkable, in him they are improved by domestication, a pro- 
cess which tends to deteriorate them in most other animals. It 
is thus by the unwearied attention of breeders, that our own 
horses are now capable of performing what no others can. In 
1755, Matchem ran the Beacon Course at Newmarket — in len^-th 
four miles one furlong and one hundred and thirty-eight yards 
— with eight stone seven pounds, in seven minutes and twenty 
seconds. Flying Childers ran the same course in seven minutes 
and a half; and the Round Course, which is three miles six 
furlongs and ninety -three yards, in six minutes and forty 
seconds, carrying nine stone and two pounds. In 1772, a mile 
5 y 



ANECDOTES OF THE HORSE. 

was ran by Firetail in one minute and four seconds. In the 
year 1745, the postmaster of Stretton rode, on different horses, 
along the road to and from London, no less than 215 miles, in 
eleven hours and a half — a rate of above eighteen miles an hour ; 
and in July 1788, a horse belonging to a gentleman of Billiter 
Square, London, was trotted for a wager thirty miles in an hour 
and twenty-five minutes — which is at the rate of more than 
twenty-one miles an hour. In September 1784, a Shetland pony, 
eleven hands high, carrying five stone, was matched for one 
hundi'ed guineas to run from Norwich to Yarmouth and back 
again, which is forty-four miles. He performed it with ease in 
three hours and forty-five minutes, which was thought to be the 
greatest feat ever done by a horse of his height. In October 
1741, at the Curragh meeting in Ireland, Mr Wilde engaged to 
ride 127 miles in nine hours ; he performed it in six hours and 
twenty-one minutes, riding ten horses, and allowing for mount- 
ing and dismounting, and a moment for refreshment; he rode 
for six hours at the rate of twenty miles an hour. Mr Shafto, 
in 1762, with ten horses, and five of them ridden twice, accom- 
plished fifty miles and a quarter in one hour and forty-nine 
minutes. In 1763 he won a second match, which was to provide 
a person to ride 100 miles a-day, on any one horse each day, for 
twentj'-nine days together, and to have any number of horses 
not exceeding twenty-nine : he accomplished the task on fourteen 
horses ; and on one day he rode 160 miles, on account of the 
tu'ing of his first horse. The celebrated Marquis de la Fayette 
rode, in August 1778, from Rhode Island to Boston, a distance 
of nearly seventy miles, in seven hours, and returned in six and 
a half. Mr LIuell's Quibbler, however, afforded the most extra- 
ordinary instance on record of the stoutness as well as speed 
of the race-horse, when, in December 1786, he ran twenty-three 
miles round the flat at Newmarket in fifty-seven minutes and 
ten seconds. Hundreds of other examples might be quoted, some 
of them even perhaps more wonderful than those above cited, 
but these will serve at least to show the astonishing fleetness of 
the horse, and to confirm our assertion, that in this particular 
he is not surpassed by any other quadruped. 

The strength and power of draught in the horse is not less 
remarkable than his swiftness. " In London," says Bingley in 
his Animal Biography, " there have been instances of a single 
horse drawing, for a short space, the weight of three tons ; and 
some of the pack-horses of the north usually carry burdens 
weighing upwards of 400 pounds; but the most remarkable proof 
of the strength of the British breed is in our mili-horses, some 
of which have been known to carry, at one load, thirteen mea- 
sures of corn, that, in the whole, would amount to more than 
900 pounds' weight." Useful as the horse may be to man on 
account of his great natural strength, his utility is increased 
tenfold by the assistance of art, as is weU illustrated by the fol- 
io 



ANECDOTES OF THE HORSE. 

lowing trial which took place near Croydon, in Surrey : — The 
Surrey iron railway being- completed, and opened for the carriag-e 
of g'oods from Wandsworth to Mertsham, a bet was made that 
a common horse could draw thirty-six tons for six miles along 
the road, and that he should draw his weight from a dead pull, 
as well as turn it round the occasional winding's of the road. A 
number of gentlemen assembled near Mertsham to witness this 
extraordinary triumph of art. Twelve wagons loaded with stones, 
each wag-on T^-eighing" about three tons, were chained together, 
and a horse belonging to Mr Harwood yoked to the team. He 
started from near the Fox public-house, and drew the immense 
chain of wagons, with apparent ease, to near the turnpike at 
Croydon, a distance of six miles, in one hour and forty-six 
minutes, which is nearly at the rate of four miles an hour. In 
the course of the undertaking he was stopped four times, to show 
that it was not by the impetus of the descent the power was 
acquired. After each stoppage, a chain of four wagons was added 
to the cavalcade, with which the same horse again set off with 
undiminished power. And still farther to show the effect of 
the railway in facilitating motion, the attending workmen, to 
the number of about fifty, were directed to mount the wagons ; 
still the horse proceeded without the least distress ; and, in truth, 
there appeared to be scarcely any limitation to the power of his 
draught. After the trial, the wagons were taken to the weigh- 
ing machine, when it was found that the whole weight was little 
short of fifty-five tons and a half ! 

The endurance of the horse is also exceedingly great, and 
equalled only perhaps by that of the camel. The elephant either 
breaks down under his own weight, or becomes infuriated when 
goaded beyond his accustomed powers ; the ox, though extremely 
patient, soon suffers in his feet, or becomes faint through hunger ; 
but the horse toils on unfiinchiugiy, till not unfrequently he 
drops down dead through sheer exhaustion. The mares of the 
Bedouin Arabs will often travel fifty miles without stopping; 
and they have been known to 2:0 120 miles on emergencies, with 
hardly a respite, and no food. In 1804, an Arab horse at Banga- 
lore, in the presidency of Madras, ran 400 miles in the course 
of four successive days, and that without showing any symptoms 
of more than ordinaiy fatigue. Sometimes our own English 
horses will perform equally astonishing feats, notwithstanding 
that they carry larger weights, and are more heavily harnessed. 
In June 1827, a gentleman left Dublin, mounted on a small 
gelding, in company with the day coach for Limerick, and 
arrived at Nenagh at six o'clock the same evening, having kept 
the vehicle in view all the time, and entered the town with it, 
riding the same horse. There was a wager of fifty guineas to 
ten that he would not bring the horse alive to Nenagh. The 
animal was, however, none the worse for it, after the extraor- 
dinary ride of ninety-five English miles. 

11 



ANECDOTES OF THE HORSE. 

Even tlie ass, dull and stujDid as our bad treatment too often 
makes him, is not without his share of vig'our and endurance. 
In 1826, according" to Captain Brown, a clothier of Ipswich 
undertook to drive his ass in a light gig" to London and back 
again — a distance of 140 miles — in two days. The ass went to 
London at a pace little short of a good gig-horse, and fed at 
different stages well; on his return he came in, without the 
application of a whip, at the rate of seven miles an hour, and 
performed the whole journey with ease. He was twelve and a 
half hands high, and half-breed Spanish and English. 

ATTACHMENT TO MAN. 

In submission and attachment to man, the horse is equalled 
onl}' by the dog and elephant. He soon learns to distinguish his 
master's voice, and to come at his call ; he rejoices in his presence, 
and seems restless and unhappy during his absence; he joins 
with him willingiy in any work, and appears susceptible of emu- 
lation and rivalry ; and though frequently fierce and dangerous 
"to strangers, yet there are few instances on record of his being 
faithless to those with whom he is domesticated, unless under the 
most inhumane and barbarous treatment. Colonel Smith relates 
the following affecting incident of attachment in a charger which 
belonged to the late General Sir Robert Gillespie : — When Sir 
Robert fell at the storming of Kalunga, his favourite black 
charger, bred at the Cape of Good Hope, and carried by him to 
India, was, at the sale of his effects, competed for by several 
officers of his division, and finally knocked down to the privates 
of the 8th dragoons, who contributed their prize-money, to the 
amount of £500 sterling, to retain this commemoration of their 
late commander. Thus the charger was always led at the head 
of the regiment on a march, and at the station of Cawnpore, was 
usually indulged with taking his ancient post at the colour stand, 
where the salute of passing squadrons was given at drill and on 
reviews. When the regiment was ordered home, the funds of 
the privates running low, he was bought for the same sum by a 
relative of ours, who provided funds and a paddock for him, 
where he might end his days in comfort ; but when the corps 
had marched, and the sound of the trumpet had departed, he 
refused to eat, and on the first opportunity, being led out to 
exercise, he broke from his groom, and galloping to his ancient 
station on the parade, after neighing aloud, dropped down and 
died. 

The affection of the horse is sometimes displayed in joyous 
gambols and familiar caresses like those of the dog, though, like 
the man in the fable who was embraced by his ass, one would 
willingly dispense with such boisterous manifestations. We are 
informed in the Sporting Magazine, that a gentleman in Buck- 
inghamshire had in his possession, December 1793, a three-year- 
old colt, a dog, and three sheep, which were his constant 
u 



ANECDOTES OF THE HORSE. 

attendants in all his walks. Wlien the parlour window, which 
looked into the field, happened to be open, the colt had often 
been known to leap throu<^h it, g'o up to and caress his master, 
and then leap back to his pasture. We have ourselves often 
witnessed similar sig-ns of affection on the part of an old Shetland 
pony, which would place its forefoot in the hand of its youn^ 
master like a dog-, thrust its head under his arm to be caressed, 
and join with him and a little terrier in all their noisy rompin^s 
on the lawn. The same animal daily bore its master to school, 
and though its heels and teeth were always ready for every aggres- 
sive urchin, yet so attached was it to this boy, that it would wait 
hours for him in his sports by the way, and even walk alone 
from the stable in town to the school-room, which was fully half 
a mile distant, and wait saddled and bridled for the afternoon's 
dismissal. Indeed the young" scape-g-race did not deserve one- 
tenth of this attention, for we have often seen old " Donald" 
toiling homeward with him at the g'allop, to make up for time 
squandered at taw or cricket. 

Occasionally equine attachment exhibits itself in a lig-ht as 
exalted and creditable as that of the human mind. During the 
peninsular Avar, the trumpeter of a French cavalry corps had a 
fine charg-er assigned to him, of which he became passionately 
fond, and which, by gentleness of disposition and uniform doci- 
lity, equally evinced its affection. The sound of the trumpeter's 
voice, the sight of his uniform, or the twang of his trumpet, was 
sufficient to throw this animal into a state of excitement ; and he 
appeared to be pleased and happy only when under the saddle of 
his rider. Indeed he was unruly and useless to everybody else ; 
for once, on being removed to another part of the forces, and 
consigned to a young officer, he resolutely refused to perform 
his evolutions, and bolted straight to the trumpeter's station, and 
there took his stand, jostling alongside his former master. This 
animal, on being restored to the trumpeter, carried him, during 
several of the peninsular campaigns, through many difficulties 
and hair-breadth escapes. At last the corps to which he belonged 
was worsted, and in the confusion of retreat the trumpeter was 
mortally wounded. Dropping from his horse, his body was found 
many days after the engagement stretched on the sward, with 
the faithful charger standing beside it. During the long inter- 
val, it seems that he had never quitted the trumpeter's side, 
but had stood sentinel over his corpse, scaring away the birds 
of prey, and remaining totally heedless of his own privations. 
When found, he was in a sadly reduced condition, partly from 
loss of blood through wounds, but chiefly from want oi' food, 
of which, in the excess of his grief, he could not be prevailed 
on to partake. 

On the evening of Saturday the •24th February 1830, Mr 
Smith, supervisor of excise at Beauly, was proceeding home 
from a surve}-- of Fort Augustus, and, to save a distance of about 

13 



ANECDOTES OF THE HORSE. 

sixteen miles, lie took the liill road from Drrnnnadrochit to 
Beauly. The road was completely blocked up with, and indis- 
cernible amidst the waste of snow, so that Mr Smith soon lost 
all idea of his route. In this dilemma he thought it best to trust 
to his horse, and, loosening- the reins, allowed him to choose 
his own course. The animal made way, though slowly and 
cautiously, till coming to a ravine near Glenconvent, when both 
horse and rider suddenly disappeared in a snow wreath several 
fathoms deep. Mr Smith, on recovering, found himself nearly 
three yards from the dangerous spot, with his faithful horse 
standing over him, and licking the snow from his face. He 
thinks the bridle must have been attached to his person. So 
completely'', however, had he lost all sense of consciousness, that 
beyond the bare fact as stated, he had no knowledge of the 
means by which he had made so striking and providential an 
escape. 

Very similar to the above is the following instance related 
of a hunter belonging to a farmer in the neighbourhood of 
Edinburgh : — On one occasion his master was returning home 
from a jovial meeting, where he had been very liberal in 
his potations, which destroyed his power of preserving his 
equilibrium, and rendered him at the same time somewhat 
drowsy. He had the misfortune to fall from his saddle, but in 
so easy a manner, that it had not the effect of rousing him from 
his sleepy fit ; and he felt quite contented to rest where he had 
alighted. His faithful steed, on being eased of his burden, in- 
stead of scampering home, as one would have expected from his 
habits (which were somewhat vicious), stood by his prostrate 
master, and kept a strict watch over him. The farmer was dis- 
covered by some labourers at sunrise, very contentedly snoozing 
on a heap of stones by the road-side. They naturally approached 
to replace him on his saddle ; but every attempt to come near 
him was resolutely opposed by the g-rinning teeth and ready 
heels of his faithful and determined guardian. 

The Biographical Sketches, on the authority of which we give 
the preceding, also records the following, as exhibiting a still more 
sagacious solicitude on the part of the horse for his master :— " A 
farmer who lives in the neighbom^hood of Belford, and regularly 
attends the markets there, was returning home one evening in 
1828, and being somewhat tipsy, rolled off his saddle into the 
middle of the road. His horse stood still ; but after remaining 
patiently for some time, and not observing any disposition in its 
rider to get up and proceed further, he took him by the collar 
and shook him. This had little or no effect, for the farmer only 
gave a grumble of dissatisfaction at having his repose disturbed. 
The animal was not to be put off with any such evasion, and so 
applied his mouth to one of his master's coat laps, and after 
several attempts, by dragging at it, to raise him upon his feet, 
the coat lap gave way. Three individuals who witnessed tliis 

14 



ANECDOTES OF THE HORSE. 

extraordinary proceeding then went up, and assisted him in 
mounting his horse, putting the one coat lap into the pocket of 
the other, when he trotted off, and safely reached home. This 
horse is deservedly a favourite of his master, and has, we under- 
stand, occasionally been engaged in gambols with him like a 
dog." 

The generally received opinion, that asses are stubborn and 
intractable, alike unmoved by harsh or affectionate usage, is in 
a great measure unfounded, as appears from the following anec- 
dote, related in Church's Cabinet of Quadrupeds. In most in- 
stances their stubbornness is the result of bad treatment — a fact 
that says less for the humanity and intelligence of maiji, than for 
the natural dispositions of the brute. An old man, who a few 
years ago sold vegetables in London, used in his employment an 
ass, which conveyed his baskets from door to door. Frequently 
he gave the poor industrious creature a handful of hay, or a 
piece of bread, or greens, by way of refreshment and reward. 
He had no need of any goad for the animal, and seldom 
indeed had he to lift up his hand to drive it on. His kind 
treatment was one day remarked to him, and he was asked 
whether his beast were apt to be stubborn. " Ah ! master," 
replied he, " it is of no use to be cruel, and as for stubbornness, I 
cannot complain ; for he is ready to do anything, and go any- 
where. I bred him myself. He is sometimes skittish and play- 
ful, and once ran away from me ; joii will hardly believe it, but 
there were more than fifty people after him, yet he turned back 
of himself, and never stopped till he ran his head kindly into my 
bosom." 

INSTANCES OF REVENGE AND OBSTINACY. 

Though Providence seems to have implanted in the horse a 
benevolent disposition, with at the same time a certain awe of 
the human race, yet there are instances on record of his recol- 
lecting injuries, and fearfully revenging them. A person near 
Boston, in America, was in the habit, whenever he wished to 
catch his horse in the field, of taking a quantity of corn in a 
measure by way of bait. On calling to him, the horse would 
come up and eat the corn, while the bridle was put over his 
head. But the owner having deceived the animal several times, 
by calling him when he had no corn in the measure, the horse 
at length began to suspect the design ; and coming up one day 
as usual, on being called, looked into the measure, and seeing it 
empty, turned round, reared on his hind-legs, and killed his 
. master on the spot. 

• In the preceding instance the provocation was deceit and 
trickery ; the poor horse, however, often receives heavier incen- 
tives to revenge. Can we blame him when he attempts it in 
such cases as the following ? — A baronet, one of whose hunters 
had never tired in the longest chase, once encouraged the cruel 

15 



o 



ANECDOTES OF THE HORSE. 

thought of attempting completely to fatigue him. After a lon^ 
chase, therefore, he dined, and again mounting, rode furiously 
among the hills. When brought to the stable, his strength ap- 
peared exhausted, and he was scarcely able to walk. The groom, 
possessed of more feeling than his brutal master, could not re- 
frain from tears at the sight of so noble an animal thus sunk 
down. The baronet some time after entered the stable, and the 
horse made a furious spring upon him ; and had not the groom 
interfered, would soon have put it out of his power of ever again 
misusing his animals. 

It is told of a horse belonging to an Irish nobleman, that he 
always became restive and furious whenever a certain individual 
came into his presence. One day this poor fellow happened to 
pass within reach, when the animal seized him with its teeth and 
broke his arm; it then threw him down, and lay upon him — 
eveiy effort to get it oif proving unavailing, till the bystanders 
were compelled to shoot it. The reason assig'ned for this ferocity 
was, that the man had performed a cruel operation on the 
animal some time before, and which it seems to have revenge- 
fully remembered. 

The ass, like his congener the horse, is also sometimes influ- 
enced by the most determined revenge. At Salwell, in 1825, an 
ass was ferociously attacked by a bull-dog' ; but the poor animal 
defended himself so gallantly with his heels — keeping his rear 
always presented to his assailant — that the dog was unable to 
lix on him. He at length turned rapidly round on his adver- 
sary, and caught hold of him with his teeth in such a man- 
ner that the dog was unable to retaliate. Here the dog howled 
most repentantly, and one would have thought that the ass 
would have dismissed him with this punishment; but no ; he 
dragged the enemy to the river Derwent, into which he -put him 
over the head, and lying down upon him, kept him under water 
till he was drowned. 

Occasionally, the horse displays unparalleled obstinacy, suffer- 
ing himself to be lashed and bruised in the severest manner 
rather than jneld to the wishes of his master. In most instance» 
there is some discoverable cause for such perversity, though in 
some there appears to be no other impulse save that of a stubborn 
and wilful disposition. We have witnessed a draught -horse, 
working lustily and cheerfulh^, all at once stand still on coming 
to a certain spot ; and no coaxing that could be offered, or 
punishment that could be inflicted, would cause him to move one 
step, until he was blindfolded, and then he would push forward 
as if nothing had happened. On one occasion, we chanced to see 
a carter's horse take one of these obstinate fits, when issuing 
from a quarry with a load of stones. The most shameful tortures 
were had recourse to by the carter and quarrymen ; but all to no 
purpose. We believe the animal would have suffered himself to 
be cut to pieces rather than stir one foot. At last the carter in 

16 



ANECDOTES OP THE HORSE. 

desperation threw an iron chain round the neck of the animal, 
and yoked another horse to the chain ; but no sooner did tlie 
obstinate brute perceive the intention of this application, than he 
rushed forward ; and from that day, the simple jing'ling" of a 
chain was quite sufficient to put him out of the sulks. 

For the most part, however, there is some apparent cause for 
these intractable lits, such as the remembrance of a frig-ht, of a 
severe punishment, or of some other injury. Thus we have 
known a riding:-horse pass within a few feet of the wands of a 
windmill when in motion ; and yet no force or persuasion would 
induce him to pass them when they were at rest. This seemed 
curious to his master, till told that one day, when the animal 
was grrazing: immediately under the wands, they were suddenly 
set in motion, which so frig-htened him, that in his haste to 
escape he came down, and was stunned by the fall. The recollec- 
tion of this had never forsaken him ; and though he had courag'e 
to pass a moving" wand, he could never so much as face one that 
had a chance of bein^- suddenly set in motion. Akin to this is 
the following:, related to us by a correspondent : — In travelling' 
by coach some years ago, we stopped at a country stag-e to change 
horses. While this process was going on, we remarked a pecu- 
liar interest to attach to the left-wheel horse, a strong-built, 
though rather hard-favoured and sinister-looking* animal. After 
unusual preparations had been made, and amid the leers and 
jibes of a bevy of ostlers and post-boys, who stood by armed with 
whips and staves, the order was given to start. The otlie? 
horses bounded forward, but the left-wheeler instantly squatted 
down on the ground, and there he lay, notwithstanding- the 
shower of blows with which he was forthwith assailed from the 
bystanders. It was in vain that they beat, coaxed, and threat- 
ened-him-rthere he lay, sullen and unmoved, till at last they 
were oblig"ed to unyoke him, and supply his place with another. 
This had not been his first trick of the kind ; yet we were told 
that the same horse submitted quietly to be yoked in a gig-, and 
always proved a steady roadster. Some antipathy had rendered 
the coach abhorrent to him, thoug-h he did not pretend to exempt 
himself from other kinds of labour. 

The ascendency which some individuals have over intractable 
horses of this sort is truly wonderful, as the following" curious 
instance, related of James Sullivan, a horse-breaker at Cork, 
and an awkward rustic of the lowest class, will show. This 
man obtained the singular appellation of the Whisperer, from a 
most extraordinary art which he possessed of controlling-, in a 
secret manner, and taming* into the most submissive and tractable 
disposition, any horse that was notoriously vicious and obstinate. 
He practised his skill in private, and without any apparent for- 
cible means. In the short space of half an hour, his magical 
influence would bring" into perfect submission and good tem})er 
even a colt that had never been handled ; and the efiect, though 

17 



ANECDOTES OF THE HORSE. 

instantaneously produced, was generally durable. When em- 
ployed to tame an outrageous animal, he directed the stable in 
which he and the object of the experiment were placed to be shut, 
with orders not to open the door until a signal was given. After 
a tete-a-tete between him and the horse for about half an hour, 
during which little or no bustle was heard, the signal was made, 
and upon opening the door, the horse was seen lying* down, and 
the man by his side plaj-ing familiarly with him, like a child with 
a puppy dog. From that time he was found perfectly willing to 
submit to any discipline, however repugnant to his nature before. 
The narrator of this account says, '' I once saw his skill on a horse 
which could never before be brought to stand for a smith to shoe 
him. The day after Sullivan's half-hour lecture, I went, not 
without some incredulity, to the smith's shop, with many other 
curious spectators, where we were eye-witnesses of the complete 
success of his art. This, too, had been a troop-horse ; and it was 
supposed, not without reason, that, after regimental discipline 
had failed, no other would be found availing. I observed that 
the animal appeared afraid whenever Sullivan either spoke or 
looked at him. How that extraordinary ascendency could have 
been obtained, it is difficult to conjectm-e. He seemed to possess 
an instinctive power of inspiring awe, the result perhaps of a 
natural intrepidity, in which I believe a great part of his art 
consisted, though the circumstance of a tete-a-tete shows, that 
upon particular occasions something more must have been added 
to it.'' 

ATTACHMENT TO OTHER ANIMALS. 

Gregarious when wild, the horse retains his sociable dis- 
position undiminished by domestication and bondage. " My 
neighbour's horse," saj^s White of Selborne, " will not only not 
stay by himself abroad, but he will not bear to be left alone in a 
strange stable without discovering the utmost impatience, and 
endeavouring to break the rack and manger with his forefeet. 
He has been known to leap out at a stable-window, through 
which dung was thrown, after company; and yet in other 
respects he is remarkably quiet." The same disposition cha- 
racterises less or more every member of the family. Many 
horses, though quiet in companj^, will not stay one minute' in a 
field by themselves ; and yet the presence of a cow, of a goat, 
or a pet lamb, will perfectly satisfy them. The attachments 
which they thus form are often curious and inexplicable. ' , . 

A gentleman of Bristol had a greyhound, which slept in the 
stable along v/ith a very fine hunter of about fivei years of age. 
These animals became mutually attached, and regai*ded each 
other with the most tender affection. The greyhound always lay 
under the manger beside the horse, which was so fond ot 'him, 
that he became unhappy and restless when the dog was out of his 
sight. It was a common practice with the gentleman to whom 

18 



ANECDOTES OF THE HORSE. 

tliey belonged to call at the stable for the greyhound to accompany 
him in his walks : on such occasions the horse would look over 
iiis shoulder at the dog' with much anxiety, and neigh in a 
manner which plainly said — "Let me also accompany you." 
When the dog returned to the stable, he was always welcomed 
by a loud neigh — he ran up to the horse and licked his nose ; in 
return, the horse would scratch the dog's back with his teeth. 
One day, when the groom was out with the horse and greyhound 
for exercise, a large dog attacked the latter, and quickly bore 
him to the ground ; on which the horse threw back his ears, 
and, in spite of all the efforts of the groom, rushed at the strange 
dog' that was worrying at the greyhound, seized him by the back 
with his teeth, which speedily made him quit his hold, and shook 
him till a large piece of the skin gave way. The offender no 
sooner got on his feet, than he judged it prudent to beat a 
precipitate retreat from so formidable an opponent. 

The following singular instance of attachment between a pony 
and a lamb is given by Captain Brown : — " In December 1825, 
Thomas Rae, blacksmith, Hardhills, parish of Brittle, purchased 
a lamb of the black-faced breed from an individual passing with 
a large flock. It was so extremely wild, that it was with great 
difficulty separated from its fleecy companions. He put it into 
his field in company with a cow and a little white Galloway. 
It never seemed to mind the cow, but soon exhibited manifest 
indications of fondness for the pony, wliich, not insensible to 
such tender approaches, amply demonstrated the attachment to 
be reciprocal. They were now to be seen in company in all cir- 
cumstances, whether the pony was used for riding or drawing'. 
Such a spectacle no doubt drew forth the officious gaze of many; 
and when likely to be too closely beset, the lamb would seek an 
asylum beneath the pony's belly, and pop out itg head betwixt 
the fore or hind legs, with looks of conscious security. At 
night, it invariably repaired to the stable, and reposed under the 
manger, before the head of its favourite. When separated, which 
only happened when effected by force, the lamb would raise the 
most plaintive bleatings, and the pony responsive neighings. On 
one ocpasion they both strayed into an adjoining field, in which 
was a flock of sheep ; the lamb joined the flock at a short distance 
froni the ponv, but as soon as the owner removed him, it quickly 
followed , without the least regard to its own species. Another 
instance of the same description happened when riding through 
a large flock : it followed on without showing any symptoms of 
a wish to. remain with its natural companions." 

As already remarked, the attachments which the horse will 
foi'm, when separated from his own kind, are often curious and 
inexplicable, showing how much the whole animal creation, 
from man himself to the humblest insect, is under the influence 
of a social nature. " Even great disparity of kind," says White, 
"does not always prevent social advances and mutual fellow- 

19 



ANECDOTES OF THE HORSE. 

ship; for a very intelligent and observant person has assured 
me, that in the former part of his life, keeping but one horse, he 
happened also on a time to have but one solitary hen. These 
two incongruous animals spent much of their time together in a 
lonely orchard, where they saw no creature but each other. By 
degrees an apparent regard began to take place between these 
two sequestered individuals. "The fowl would approach the 
quadruped with notes of complacency, rubbing herself quietly 
against his legs, while the horse would look down with satisfac- 
tion, and move with the greatest caution and circumspection, 
lest he should trample on his diminutive companion. Thus, by 
mutual good offices, each seemed to console the vacant hours of 
the other ; so that INIilton, when he puts the following sentiment 
in the mouth of Adam, seems somewhat mistaken — 

Much less can bird with beast, or fish with fowl 
So well converse, nor with the ox the ape." 

We shall close this pleasing section of the horse's history with 
an extract from the Biographical Sketches, which speaks volumes 
for the intelligence and affection of the brute creation : — " My 
friend, Dr Smith, of the Queen's County Militia, Ireland, had a 
beautiful hackney, which, although extremely spirited, was at 
the same time wonderfully docile. He had also a fine New- 
foundland dog, named Caesar. These animals were mutually 
attached, and seemed perfectly acquainted with each other's 
actions. The dog was always kept in the stable at -night, and 
universally lay beside the horse. "When Dr Smith practised in 
Dublin, he visited his patients on horseback, and had no other 
servant to take care of the horse, while in their houses, but 
Caesar, to whom he gave the reins in his mouth. The horse 
stood very quietly, even in that crowded city, beside his friend 
Ceesar. ^'\^len it happened that the doctor had a patient not far 
distant from the place where he paid his last visit, he did not 
think it worth while to remount, but called to his horse and 
Caesar. They both instantly obej^ed, and remained quietly oppo- 
site the door where he entered, until he came out again. "While 
he remained in ^Maryborough, Queen's County, where I com- 
manded a detachment, I had many opportunities of witnessing 
the friendship and sagacity of these intelligent animals. The 
horse seemed to be as implicitly obedient to his friend Cnesar as 
he could possibly be to his groom. The doctor would go to the 
stable, accompanied by his dog, put the bridle upon his horse, 
and giving the reins to Caesar, bid him take the horse to the 
water. They both understood what was to be done, when off 
trotted Ci^esar, followed by the horse, which frisked, capered, and 
played with the dog all the way to the rivulet, about three hun- 
dred yards distant from the stable. AVe followed at a great dis- 
tance, always keeping as far off as possible, so that we could 
observe their manoeuvres. They invariably went to tlie stream, 

20 



ANECDOTES OF THE HORSE. 

and after tlie horse liad quenched his tliirst, both returned in the 
same playful manner as they had jirone out. 

The doctor frequently de'sired Ciesar to make the horse le:ip 
over this stream, which mig-ht be about six feet l)road. The do^*, 
by a kind of bark, and leaping- up towards the horse's head, 
intimated to him what lie wanted, which was quickly under- 
stood ; and he cantered off, preceded by Ctesar, and took the leap 
in a neat and rej;::ular style. The do«^ was then desired to brinj^ 
liim back a^ain, and itwas speedily done in the same manner. 
On one occasion Cu'sar lost hold of the reins, and as soon as the 
horse cleared the leap, he immediately trotted up to his canine 
guide, who took hold of the bridle, and led him through the 
water quietly." 

POWER OF MEMORY. 

Horses have exceeding'ly g-ood memories. In the darkest 
niirlits tliey will tind their way homeward, if they have but once 
passed over the road ; they will recog'nise their old masters after 
a lapse of many years ; and those that have been in the army, 
thoug-h now deg'raded to carters' drudg-es, will suddenly become 
insjiirited at the sight of military array, and rush to join the 
ranks, remembering- not only their old unifoiTn, but their own 

5)1 aces in the troop, and the order of the various manoeuvres, 
^lany interesting: anecdotes might be recited under this head, 
which place the retentive powers of the horse in a hig-hly pleas- 
ing" ana creditable ligdit. 

A g-entleman rode a young* horse, which he had bred, thirty 
miles from home, and to a part of the country where he had never 
been before. The road was a cross one, and extremely difficult 
to find ; however, by dint of perseverance and inquiry, he at 
leng'th reached liis destination. Two years afterwards, he had 
occasion to go the same way, and was benighted four or five miles 
from the end of his journey. The niirht was so dark that he 
could scarcely see the horse's head. He had a dreary moor and 
common to pass, and had lost all traces of the proper direction he 
had to take. The rain began to fall heavily. He now contem- 

I dated the uncertainty of his situation. " Here am I," said he to 
limself, " far from any house, and in the midst of a dreary waste, 
where I know not which vrny to direct the course of my steed. 
I have heard much of the memory of the horse, and in that is 
now my only hope." He threw the reins on the horse's neck, 
and encouragin*^ him to proceed, found himself safe at the g-ate 
of his friend in less than an hour. It must be remarked, that the 
Rnimal could not possibly have been that road but on the occasion 
two years before, as no person ever rode him but his master. 

Sometimes the recollection of the horse serves him so well, that 
he will perform actions with as much precision when left to him- 
self, as though he had been under the guidance of his master. 
A Wiltshire g-entleman, in 1821, lent a well-bred and fierv mare 

*2l 



ANECDOTES OF THE HOUSE. 

to a friend from towTi, who had come down to try the Essex 
dogs against the "Wilts breed of greyhounds. At the close of a 
very fine day's sport, the huntsman had to heat a small furze- 
brake, and, for the purpose of better threading it, the London 
gentleman dismounted, and gave the bridle of his mare to the 
next horseman. Puss was soon started; the "halloo" was 
given. The person who held the mare, in the eagerness of the 
sport, forgot his charge, loosed his hold, and, regardless of any 
other than his own steed, left the mare to run, like Mazeppa's, 
" wild and untutored." But, to the astonishment of all, instead 
of so doing, or even attempting to bend her course homewards 
(and she was in the immediate neighbourhood of her stable), she 
ran the whole coui'se at the tail of the dogs, turned as well as she 
could when they brought the prey about ; and afterwards, by 
outstripping all competitors (for the run was long and sharp), 
she stopped only at the death of the hare, and then suffered her- 
self to be quietly regained and remounted. What renders it still 
more remarkable is, that the animal had only twice followed the 
hounds previous to this event. It is true that her conduct may 
have been influenced by the circumstance, that the brace of dogs 
which were slipped were the property of her owner, and the 
groom had been in the habit of exercising them with her. 

To prove that the notes of hounds have an overpowering in- 
fluence upon horses which have once joined the chase, another 
incident, which occurred in 1807, has often been related : — As the 
Liverpool mail-coach was changing horses at the inn at Plonk's 
Heath, between Congleton in Cheshire and Newcastle-under- 
Lyne, the horses that had performed the stage from Congleton 
having just been taken off and separated, hearing Sir Peter War- 
burton's fox hounds in full cry, immediately started after them 
with their harness on, and followed the chase till the last. One 
of them, a blood mare, kept the track with the whipjier-in, and 
gallantly followed him for about two hours over eveiy leap he 
took, till Eeynard ran to earth in Mr Hibbert's plantation. 
These spirited horses were led back to the inn at Monk's Heath, 
and performed the stage back to Congleton the same evening. _ 

Horses being highly susceptible in their dispositions, are also 
peculiarly mindful of kind treatment. " This," says Colonel 
Smith, " was very manifest in a charger that had been two years 
our own, and which was left with the army, but had subse- 
quently been brought back and sold in London. About three 
years after, we chanced to travel up to to'vvn, and at a relay, 
getting out of the mail, the off- wheel horse attracted our atten-» 
tion, and upon going near to examine it, we found the animal 
recognising its former master, and testifying' satisfaction by rub- 
bing its head against our clothes, and making every moment a 
little stamp with the forefeet, till the coachman asked if the 
horse was not an old acquaintance. We remember," continues 
the colonel, " a beautiful and most powerful charger belonging 

22 



ANECDOTES OF THE HORSE. 

to a friend, then a captain in the 14th drag-oons, bought by him 
in Ireland at a low price, on account of an impetuous viciousness, 
which had cost the life of one or two grooms. The captain was 
a kind of centaur rider, not to be flung by the most violent 
eftbrts, and of a temper for g-entleness that would effect a cure, if 
vice were curable. After some very dangerous combats with his 
horse, the animal was subdued, and became so attached, that his 
master could walk anywhere with him following like a dog-, and 
even ladies could mount him with perfect safety. He rode him 
during several campaigns in Spain ; and on one occasion, when 
in action, horse and rider came headlong to the ground, the ani- 
mal, making- an effort to spring up, placed his forefoot on the 
captain's breast, but immediately withdrawing it, rose without 
hurting him, or moving till he was remounted." 

The most remarkable instances of minute recollection, however, 
occur in horses that have been accustomed to the army. It is 
told that in one of their insurrections in the early part of the 
present centuiy, the Tyrolese captured fifteen horses belonging* 
to the Bavarian troops sent against them, and mounted them 
with fifteen of their own men, in order to go out to a fresh ren- 
contre with the same troops ; but no sooner did those horses hear 
the well-known sound of their own trumpet, and recognise the 
uniform of their own squadron, than they dashed forward at full 
speed ; and, in spite of all the efforts of their riders, bore them 
into the ranks, and delivered them up as prisoners to the Bava- 
rians. " If an old military horse," we quote the Cyclopaedia of 
Natural History, " even when reduced almost to skin and bone, 
hears the roll of a drum or the twang- of a trumpet, the freshness 
of his youth appears to come upon him, and if he at the same 
time gets a sight of men clad in uniform, and drawn up in line, 
it is no easy matter to prevent him from joining them. Nor 
does it signify what kind of military they are, as is shown by 
the following' case : — Towards the close of last century, about 
the time when volunteers were first embodied in the different 
towns, an extensive line of turnpike road was in progress of con- 
struction in a part of the north. The clerk to the trustees upon 
this line used to send one of his assistants to ride along- occa- 
sionally, to see that the contractors, who were at work in a great 
many places, were doing their work properly. The assistant, on 
these journeys, rode a horse which had lor a long- time carried a 
field-officer, and though aged, still possessed a great deal of 
spiiit. One day, as he was passing near a town of considerable 
size which lay on the line of road, the volunteers were at di'ill 
on the common; and the instant that Solus (for that was the 
name of the horse) heard the drum, he leaped the fence, and was 
speedily at that post in front of the volunteers which would have 
been occupied by the commanding officer of a regiment on parade 
or at drill ; nor could the rider by any means get him off the 
ground until the volunteers retired to the town. As long- as they 

23 



ANECDOTES OP THE HORSE. 

kept the field, the horse took the proper place of a commanding- 
officer in all their manoeuvres ; and he marched at the head of 
the corps into the town, prancing* in military style as cleverly 
as his stiffened legs would allow him, to the great amusement of 
the volunteers and spectators, and to the no small annoyance of 
the clerk, who did not feel very highly honoured by Solus making 
^ colonel of him against his will." 

The following' illustration of combined memory and reasoning 
has often been recorded ; we are not aware, however, upon whose 
authority it originally appeared : — A cart-horse belonging to Mr 
Leggat, Gallowgate Street, Glasgow, had been several times 
afflicted with the bots, and as often cured by Mr Downie, farrier 
there. He had not, however, been troubled with that disease 
for a considerable time ; but on a recurrence of the disorder, he 
happened one morning to be employed in College Street, a dis- 
tance of nearly a mile from Mr Downie's workshop. Arranged 
in a row with other horses engaged in the same work, while the 
carters were absent, he left the range, and, unattended by any 
driver, went down the High Street, along the Gallowgate, and 
up a narrow lane, where he stopped at the farrier's door. As 
neither Mr Leggat nor any one appeared with the horse, it was 
surmised that he had been seized with his old complaint. Being 
unyoked from the cart, he lay down and showed by every means 
of which he was capable that he was in distress. He was again 
treated as usual, and sent home to his master, who had by that 
time persons in all directions in search of him. 

In point of sagacitj'' and memory, the ass is nothing inferior 
to his nobler congener, as is shown by the subjoined w^ell-known 
anecdote : — In 1816, an ass belonging to Captain Dundas, then 
at Malta, was shipped on board the Ister frigate, bound from 
Gibraltar to that island. The vessel struck on a sand-bank off 
Cape de Gat ; and the ass was thrown overboard, in the hope 
that it might be able to swim to land ; of which, however, there 
seemed little chance, for the sea was running so high, that a 
boat which left the ship was lost. A few days after, when the 
gates of Gibraltar were opened in the morning, the guard was 
surprised by the ass presenting himself for admittance. On 
entering, he proceeded immediately to the stable of his former 
master. The poor animal had not only swam safely to shore, 
but, without guide, compass, or travelling map, had found his 
way from Cape de Gat to Gibraltar — a distance of more than two 
hundred miles — through a mountainous and intricate country, 
intersected by streams, which he had never traversed before, and 
in so short a period that he could not have made one false turn. 

DOCILITY. 

The docility of the horse is one of the most remarkable of his 
natural gifts. Furnished with acute senses, an excellent memory'-, 
high intelligence, and gentle disposition, he soon learns to know 

24 



ANECDOTES OF THE HORSE. 

and obey his master's will, and to perform certain actions with 
astonishing" accuracy and precision. The ran^^e of his per- 
formances^ however,' is limited by his physical conformation : he 
has not a hand to grasp, a proboscis to lift the minutest object, 
nor the advantag-es of a light and agile frame ; if he had, the 
monkey, the dog, and the ele})hant, would in this respect be left 
far behind him. " INIany of the anecdotes that are told under this 
head are highly entertaining. 

Mr Astley, junior, of the Royal Amphitheatre, Westminster 
Bridge, once had in his possession a remarkably tine Barbary horse, 
forh'-three years of age, which was presented him by the Duke 
of Leeds. This celebrated animal for a number of years officiated 
in the character of a waiter in the course of the performances at 
the amphitheatre, and at various other theatres in the United 
Kingdom. At the request of his master, he would ungirth his 
own saddle, wash his feet in a pail of water, and would also brin*^' 
into the riding-school a tea-table and its appendages, which feat 
was usually followed up by fetching* a chair, or stool, or what- 
ever might be wanted. His achievements Avere generally wound 
up by his taking a kettle of boiling water from a blazing fire, to 
the wonder and admiration of the spectators. Ray affirms that 
he has seen a horse that danced to music, which at the com- 
mand of his master affected to be lame, feigned death, lay 
motionless with his limbs extended, and allowed himself to be 
dragged about till some words were pronounced, when he in- 
stantly sprang to his feet. Feats of this kind are now indeed 
common, and must have been witnessed by many of our readers 
in the circuses of Astley, Ord, }3ucrow, and others. Dancing, 
embracing, lying down to make sport with their keepers, fetch- 
ing cane and gloves, selecting peculiar cards, and many similar 
performances, are among the expected entertainments of all 
equestrian exhibitions. 

A few years ago, one of the most attractive of Ducrow's ex- 
hibitions was " The Muleteer and his Wonderful Horse." The 
feats of this pair are pleasantly described in a popular journal, 
by an individual who witnessed them in 1838 : — " The horse," 
says tliis writer, " is a beautiful piebald, perfect almost in 
mould, and adorned about the neck with little bells. At first, it 
phij'fully and trickishly avoids its master when he affects an 
'anxiety to catch it ; but when the muleteer averts his head, and 
assumes the appearance of sullenness, the animal at once sto]is, 
and comes up close to his side, as if very penitent for its untimely 
sportiveness. Its master is pacified, and after caressing it a 
little, he touches the animal's fore-legs. It stretches them out, 
and, in doing" so, necessarily causes the hind-legs to project also. 
We now see the purpose of these movements. The muleteer 
wishes a seat, and an excellent one he finds upon the horse's pro- 
truded hind-lerjs. A variety of instances of docility similar to 
this are exhibited bv the creature in succession, but its leapinjj 

25 



ANECDOTES OF THE HORSE. 

feats appeared to us the most striking" of all. Poles are brought 
into the ring", and the horse clears six of these, one after the 
other, with a distance of not more than four feet between ! After it 
has done this, it g-oes up limpinfj to its master, as if to say, ' See, 
I can do no more to-nig-ht ! ' The muleteer lifts the lame foot, 
and seems to search for the cause of the halt, but in vain. Still, 
however, the horse goes on limping*. The muleteer then looks it 
in the face, and shakes his head, as if he would say, * Ah ! you 
are shamming", you rog-ue; arn't you V And a sham it proves to 
be ; for, at a touch of the whip, the creature bounds off like a 
fawn, sound both in wind and limb." 

One of the earliest equine actors in this country was Banks's 
celebrated horse " Morocco," alluded to hy Shakspeare in Love's 
Labour Lost, and by other writers of that time. It is stated 
of this animal that he would restore a glove to its owner 
after his master had whispered the man's name in his ear, 
and that he would tell the number of pence in any silver coin. 
He danced likewise to the sound of a pipe, and told money 
with his feet. Sir Walter Raleigh quaintly remarks, " that had 
Banks lived in older times, he would have shamed all the 
enchanters in the world ; for whosoever was most famous among 
them, could never master or instruct any beast as he did his 
horse." M. le Gendre mentions similar feats performed by a 
small horse at the fair of St Germain in 173*2. Among others 
which he accomplished with astonishing precision, he could 
specify, by striking his foot so many times on the ground, the 
number of pips upon a card which any person present had drawn 
out of a pack. He could also tell the hour and minute to which 
the hands of a watch pointed in a similar manner. His master 
collected a number of coins from different persons in the com- 
pany, mixed them together, and threw them to the horse in a 
handkerchief. The animal took it in his mouth, and delivered 
to each person his own piece of money. What is still more 
wonderful, considering his size, weight, and peculiarity of con- 
struction, the horse has been known to pass along the tight-rope. 
It is recorded that, at the solemnities which attended the wedding 
of Robert, brother to the king of France, in 1237, a horse was 
ridden along a rope, and that it kept balance and moved with 
precision. Our surprise at this rope-dancing faculty may, how- 
ever, be a little abated, when we learn that the more unwieldy 
elephant has actually exhibited the same performance.* 

Even the ass, stupid as we are accustomed to consider him, is 

* According to Pliny, at the spectacles given by the Emperor Germani- 
cus, it was not an uncommon thing to see elephants hurl javelins in the 
air, and catch them in their trunks — fight with each other as gladiators, 
and then execute a pyrrhic dance. Lastly, they danced upon a rope, and 
their steps were so practised and certain, tiiat four of them traversed 
the rope (or rather parallel ropes) bearing a litter which contained one 
of their companions, who feigned to be sick. 
26 



ANECDOTES OF THE HORSE. 

capable of bein^ tauGrbt tricks equally clever and airmsing*. Leo, 
in his Description of Africa, 1556, g-jves the following- account of 
a performance which he witnessed in Eij^ypt : — "When the Maho- 
metan worship is over, the common people of Cairo resort to that 
part of the suburbs called Bed-Elloch, to see the exhibition of 
stag-e-players and mountebanks, who teach camels, asses, and 
dog's to dance. The dancing- of the ass is diverting- enoug-h ; for 
after he has frisked and capered about, his master tells him that 
the sultan, meaning' to build a g-reat palace, intends to employ 
all the asses in carrying mortar, stones, and other materials; 
upon which the ass falls down with his heels upwards, closing- 
his eyes, and extending- his chest, as if he were dead. This done, 
the master beg-s some assistance of the company, to make up 
for the loss of the dead ass ; and having- g-ot all he can, he g:ives 
them to know that truly his ass is not dead, but only being- 
sensible of his master's necessity, plaj'ed that trick to procure 
some provender. He then commands the ass to rise, which still 
lies in the same posture, notwithstanding all the blows he caa 
g'ive him ; till at last he proclaims, by virtue of an edict of the 
sultan, all are bound to ride out next day upon the comeliest 
asses they can find, in order to see a triumphal show, and to 
entertain their asses with oats and Nile water. These words are 
no sooner pronounced, than the ass starts up, prances, and leaps 
for joy. The master then declares that his ass has been pitched 
upon by the warden of his street to carry his deformed and ugly 
wife ; upon which the ass lowers his ears, and limps with one of 
his legs, as if he were lame. The master alleging that his ass 
admires handsome women, commands him to single out the 
prettiest lady in company 5 and accordingly he makes his choice, 
by going round and touching one of the prettiest with his head, 
to the great amusement of the spectators." 

This astonishing aptitude in the horse and ass is often directed 
to purposes more immediately useful to themselves. Thus, in 
1794, a gentleman in: Leeds had a horse which, after being- kept 
up in the stable for some time, and turned out into a field 
"where there was a pump well supplied with water, regularly 
obtained a quantity therefrom by his own dexterity. For this 
purpose the animal was obsei-ved to take the handle into his 
mouth, and work it with the head, in a way exactly similar to 
that done by the hand of a man, until a sufficiency was procured. 
Again, horses have been taught to go to and from water or pas- 
ture by themselves, to open the gate, and otherwise to conduct 
themselves with a propriety almost human. We have ourselves 
known a farm boy, who was too small to mount the plough- 
horses, teach one of the team to put down its head to the ground, 
allow him to get astride its neck, and then, by gently elevating 
the head, to let him slip backwards to his seat on its back. 
This act we have seen done by the same horse a hundred times, 
and there was no doubt that the animal perfectly understood the 

27 



ANECDOTES OF THE HORSE. 

TTislies of the boy, and the use of its lowering the head for the 
purpose of his mounting-. 

GENERAL SAGACITY AND INTELLIGENCE. 

It has been before remarked, that the horse is inferior to none 
of the brute creation in sagacity and g'eneral intelligence. In a 
state of nature, he is cautious and watchful ; and the manner in 
which the wild herds conduct their marches, station their scouts 
and leaders, shows how fully they comprehend the necessity of 
obedience and order. All their movements, indeed, seem to be 
the result of reason, aided by a power of communicating their 
ideas far superior to that of most other animals. The neighings 
by which they communicate terror, alarm, recognition, the dis- 
covery of water and pasture, kc. are all essentially diiferent, yet 
instantaneously comprehended b}^ every member of the herd ; 
nay, the various movements of the body, the pawing of the 
ground, the motions of the ears, and the expressions of the 
countenance, seem to be fully understood by each other. In 
passing swampy ground, they test it with the forefoot, before 
trusting to it the full weight of their bodies ; the}' will strike 
asunder the melon-cactus to obtain its succulent juice with an 
address perfectly wonderful ; and will scoop out a hollow in the 
moist sand, in the expectation of its tilling with water. All this 
they do in their wild state ; and domestication, it seems, instead 
of deteriorating, tends rather to strengthen and develop their 
intelligence. 

The"^ Rev. Mr Hall, in his " Travels through Scotland," tells 
of the Shetland ponies, that Avhen they come to any boggy piece 
of ground — whether with or without their masters — they tirst 
put their nose to it, and then pat it in a peculiar way with their 
forefeet ; and from the sound and feeling of the ground, they 
know whether it will bear them. They do the same with ice, 
and determine in a minute whether they will proceed ; and that 
with a judgment far more unerring than that of their riders. 

Their sagacity sometimes evinces itself in behalf of their com- 
panions, in a manner which would do honour even to human 
nature. M. de Boussanelle, a captain of cavalry in the regim.ent 
of Beauvilliers, mentions that a horse belonging to his company 
being, from age, unable to eat his hay or grind his oats, was fed 
for two moutlis b}' two horses on his right and left, who ate 
with him. These two chargers, drawing the hay out of the 
racks, chewed it, and put it before the old horse, and did the 
same with the oats, which he was then able to eat. In 18'28, 
Mr Evans of Henfaes, Montgomeryshire, had a favourite pony 
mare and colt, that grazed in a field adjoining the Severn. One 
day the pony made her appearance in front of the house, and, 
by" clattering with her feet, and other noises, attracted attention. 
Observing this, a person went out, and she immediately galloped 
2d 



ANECDOTES OF THE HORSE. 

off. Ml' Evans desired that she should be followed ; and all the 
crates from the house to the field were found to have been forced 
open. On reaching" the field, the pony was found looking- into 
the river, over the spot where the colt was lying drowned. 

The deepest cunnini;' sometimes mingles with the sag'acity of 
the horse, as evinced by the subjoined well-known anecdote. 
Forrester, the famous racer, had triumphed in many a severe 
contest ; at length, overweighed and overmatched, the rally had 
commenced. His adversary, who had been waiting behind, was 
quickly gaining upon him ; he reared, and eventually got abreast: 
they continued so till within the distance. They were parallel ; 
but the stren2:th of Forrester beiran to fail. He made a last des- 
perate plunge ; seized his opponent by the jaw to hold him back ; 
and it was with great difticulty he could be forced to quit his 
hold. Forrester, hov/ever, lost the race. Ag'ain, in 1753, Mr 
Quin had a racer which entered into the spirit of the course as 
much as his master. One da^'^, finding his rival gradually pass- 
ing him, he seized him by the legs ; and both riders were 
obliged to dismount, in order to separate the infuriated animals, 
now engaged with each other in the most deadly conflict. 

Professor Kruger of Halle relates the following* instance of 
sagacity and fidelity, which we believe is not without parallel 
in our own country : — A friend of mine was one dark night riding" 
home through a wood, and had the misfortune to strike his head 
against the branch of a tree, and fell from his horse stunned by 
the blow. The horse immediately returned to the house which 
they had left, about a mile distant. He found the door closed, 
and the family gone to bed. He pawed at the door, till one of 
them, hearing the noise, arose and opened it, and to his surprise 
saw the horse of his friend. No sooner was the door opened 
than the horse turned round, and the man suspecting- there was 
something wrong, followed the animal, which led him directly 
to the spot where his master lay on the ground in a faint. Equal 
in point of sagacity with this was the conduct of an old horse 
belonging to a carter in Strathmiglo, Fifeshire. From the carter 
having a large family, this animal had got particularly intimate 
with children, and would on no account move when they were 
playing among its feet, as if it feared to do them injury. On one 
occasion, when dragging- a loaded cart through a narrow lane 
near the village, a young child happened to be playing* in the 
road, and would inevitably have been crushed by the wheels, had 
it not been for the sagacity of this animal. He carefully took it 
by the clothes with his teeth, carried it for a few yards, and then 
jjlaced it on a bank by the wayside, moving slowly all the w^hile, 
and looking back, as if to satisfy himself that the wheels of the 
cart had cleared it. This animal was one of the most intelligent 
of his kind, and performed his duties with a steadiness and pre- 
cision til at were perfectly surprising. 

The following mana'uvi'e, which is related in most books on 



ANECDOTES OF THE HORSE. 

animal instinct, appears to ns rather incredible ; we transcribe 
it. however, without vouching* for its accuracy farther than the 
general circulation it has received: — The island of Kriitsand, 
which is formed by two branches of the Elbe, is frequently laid 
Tinder water, when, at the time of the spring-tides, the wind has 
blown in a direction contrary to that of the current. In April 
1794, the water one day rose so rapidly, that the horses which 
were g-razing in the plain, with their foals, suddenly found them- 
selves standing" in deep water, upon which they all set up a 
loud neighing, and collected themselves together within a small 
extent of ground. In this assembly they seemed to determine 
upon the following prudent measure, as the only means of saving 
their young foals, that were now standing up to the belly in the 
flood ; in the execution of which some old mares also took a prin- 
cipal part, which could not be supposed to have been influenced by 
any maternal solicitude for the safety of the young. The method 
they adopted was this : every two horses took a foal between 
them, and, pressing their sides together, kept it wedged in, and 
lifted up quite above the surface of the water. All the horned 
cattle in the vicinity had already set themselves afloat, and were 
swimming in regular columns towards their homes. But these 
noble steeds, with undaunted perseverance, remained immoveable 
under their cherished burdens for the space of six hours, till the 
tide ebbing, the water subsided, and the foals were at length 
placed out of danger. The inhabitants, who had rowed to the 
place in boats, viewed with delight this singular manoeuvre, 
whereby their valuable foals were preserved from a destruction 
otherwise inevitable. 

Respecting the intelligence of even the common work-horse^ 
the least delicately treated of his kind, Mr Stephens, in his 
" Book of the Farm," speaks in terms of high commendation. 
*' It is remarked," says he, " by those who have much to do with 
blood-horses, that when at liberty, and seeing two or more people 
standing conversing together, they will approach, and seem as it 
were to wish to listen to the conversation. The farm-horse will 
not do this ; but he is quite obedient to call, and distinguishes his 
name readily from that of his companions, and will not stir when 
desired to stand, till his own name is pronounced. He distin- 
guishes the various sorts of work he is put to ; and will apply his 
strength and skill in the best way to effect his purpose, whether 
in the thrashing-mill, the cart, or the plough. He soon acquires a 
perfect sense of his work. [In ploughing] I have seen a horse walk 
very steadily towards a directing pole, and halt when his head 
had reached it. He seems also to have a sense of time. I have heard 
another neigh almost daily about ten minutes before the time of 
ceasing woi-k in the evening, whether in summer or in winter. 
He is capable of distinguishing the tones of the voice, whether 
spoken in anger or otherwise, and can even distinguish between 
musical notes. There was a work-horse of my own, when even 

30 



ANECDOTES OF THE HORSE. 

at his corn, would desist eating-, and listen attentively, with 
pricked and moving- ears, and steady eyes, the instant he heard 
the note low G sounded, and would continue to listen so lon<^ as 
it was sustained ; and another that was similarly affected by a 
particular hig'h note. The recognition of the sound of the bug-le 
by a trooper, and the excitement occasioned in the hunter when 
the pack give tongue, are familiar instances of the power of horses 
to discriminate between ditierent sounds : they never mistake one 
call for another." It might also have been added, that work- 
horses seem fully to comprehend the meaning- of the terms em- 
plo3'ed to direct them — whether forward, backward, to the left, 
or to the right. A great deal of this g-ibberish might certainly 
be spared with advantage, as tending- only to confuse the limited 
faculties of the animal ; but still there is no doubt that a horse 
will obey the command to stop, to g-o on, or to swerve to either 
side, even should its master be hundreds of yards distant. Work- 
horses seem also to anticipate Sunday, perhaps partly from 
memory, and partly from noticing- the preparations making- for 
it. They are quick observers of any change that takes place 
around them ; they can distinguish the footfall of the person who 
feeds them ; and seem fully to understand, from the kind of har- 
ness put upon them, whether they are to be yoked in the mill, 
in the cart, or in the plough. Even when blind they will per- 
form their accustomed operations with wonderful precision. We 
knew a blind coach-horse that ran one of the stag-es on the 
g-reat north road for several years, and so perfectly was he ac- 
quainted with all the stables, halting--places, and other matters, 
that he was never found to commit a blunder. In his duties he 
was no doubt g-reatly aided by hearing- and smell. He could 
never be driven past his own stable ; and at the sound of the 
coming- coach, he would turn out of his own accord into the 
stable-yard. What was very remarkable, so accurate was his 
knowledge of time, that though half-a-dozen coaches halted at 
the same inn, yet was he never known to stir till the sound of 
the "Ten o'clock" was heard in the distance. 

The manner in which the ass descends the dang-erous precipices 
of the Alps and Andes is too curious and indicative of saii-acity to 
he passed over without notice. It is thus graphically clesci-ibed 
in the Naturalist's Cabinet : — " In the passes of these mountains, 
there are often on one side steep eminences, and on the other 
frightful abysses ; and as these for the most pai-t follow the direc- 
tion of the mountain, the road forms at every little distance steep 
declivities of several hundred yards downwards. These can only 
be descended by asses ; and the animals themselves seem per- 
fectly aware of the dani^er, by the caution they use. When they 
come to the edge of one of the descents, they stop of themselves, 
without being: checked by the rider; and if he hiadvertently at- 
tempt to spur them on, they continue immoveable, as if ruminating- 
on the danger that Ues before them, and prepai-ing for the en- 

31 



ANECDOTES OF THE HORSE. 

counter ; for they not only attentively view the road, but tremble 
and snort at the dang-er. Having* at leng-th prepared for the 
descent, they place their forefeet in a jjosture as if they were 
stopping- themselves ; they then also put their hinder feet to- 
g-ether, but a little forward, as if they were about to lie down. 
In this attitude, having- taken a survey of the road, they slide 
down with the swiftness of a meteor, in the meantime, all that 
the rider lias to do is to keep himself fast on the saddle, without 
(3hecking' the rein, for the least motion is sufficient to destroy 
the equilibrium of the ass, in which case both must inevitably 
perish. But their address in this rapid descent is truly won- 
derful; for, in their swiftest motion, when they seem to have 
lost all government of themselves, they follow the different wind- 
ings of the road with as g-reat exactness as if they had previously 
determined on the route they were to foiiovv', and taken every 
precaution for their safety." 

The preceding- anecdotes — which form but a mere fraction 
of what mig-ht be g-leaned — exhibit some of the principal features 
in the character of the horse, whose natural qualities have been 
matured and g-reatly developed by domestication. Man has 
trained him with care, for the value of his services ; we wish we 
could add, that he uniformly treats him with kindness and con- 
sideration. '' The reduction of the horse to a domestic state," 
snjs Butfon, " is the g-reatest acquisition from the animal world 
ever made by the art and industry of man. This noble animal 
partakes of the fatigues of war, and seems to feel the g'lory of 
victory. Equally intrepid as his master, he encounters dang-er 
and death with ardour and mag•nanimit3^ He delig-hts in the 
noise and tumult of arms, and annoys the enemy with resolution 
and alacrity. But it is not in perils and conflicts alone that the 
horse willing-ly co-operates with his master ; he likewise partici- 
pates in human pleasures. He exults in the chase and the tour- 
nament ; his eyes sjDarkle with emulation in the course. But, 
thoug-h bold and intrepid, he suffers not himself to be carried off 
by a furious ardour; he represses his movements, and knov/s 
how to govern and check the natural vivacity and fire of his tem- 
per. He not only yields to the hand, but seems to consult the 
inclination of the rider. Uniformly obedient to the impressions 
he receives, he flies or stops, and regulates his motions entireh^ 
by the will of his master. He in some measure renounces his 
very existence to the pleasure of man. He delivers up his whole, 
powers ; he reserves nothing ; and often dies rather than disobey-, 
the mandates of his governor." If such be the principal features 
in the character of the horse — and they are universally admitted 
— the feelings of that individual are little to be envied who ever 
utters a harsh tone, draws a severe lash, or urges beyond his 
speed or strength an animal so willing and so obedient, and 
whose powers have been so essential to human progress. 

32 







ill III 




WILLIAM OF ORANGE AND THE NETHERLANDS. 



r^ N an easterly direction from England, and separated 




M-y> ceedingly populous, and possessing- a larg-e number of towns 
wM and cities. It derives the name of Netherlands from its 
(^v^ consisting" of a low tract of level ground on the shore of the 
fv> ^ German Ocean, and, from general appearances, is believed to 
have been formed of an alluvial deposit from the waters of the 
Rhine, the Ivleuse, the Scheldt, and other rivers. In the first 
stage of its formation, the land was for the greater part a species 
of swamp, but by dint of great perseverance, it has in the course 
of ages been drained and embanked, so as to exclude the ocean, 
and prevent the rivers and canals from overflowing their bomi- 
daries. 

The industriously-disposed people, a branch of the great Ger- 
man or Teutonic family, who have thus rendered their country 
habitable and productive, did not get leave to enjoy their con- 
quests in peace. They had from an early period to defend them- 
selves against warlike neighbours, who wished to appropriate 
their country ; and in later times — the sixteenth century — after 
attaining great opulence by their skill in the arts and the general 
integi'ity of their character, they were exposed to a new calamity 
in the bigotry of their rulers. There now ensued a struggle for 
civil and religious liberty of great importance and interest ; and 
to an account of its leading particulars we propose to devote the 
present paper. 

Ko. 42. 1 



WILLIAM OF OBANGE AND THE NETHERLANDS. 

Divided into a numlDer of provinces, each g-overned by its 
own duke, count, or bishoiD, a succession of circumstances in the 
fifteenth century brought the whole of the Netherlands into the 
possession of the family of Burg-undy. But in the year 1477 
Charles, Duke of Burg-undy, bemg- killed in the battle of Nancy' 
the Netherlands were inherited by his daughter Mary who 
marrying Maximilian, son of Frederick III., emperor of Austria' 
died soon after, leaving an infant son, Philip. In 1494 this 
Phihp, known by the name of Philip the Fair, assumed the go- 
vernment of the Netherlands. Shortly afterwards he married 
Joanna, daughter of Ferdinand and Isabella, the joint sovereigns 
of Spain ; and in 1506 he died, leaving a young son, Charles. 
In this manner, handed by family inheritance from one to an- 
other, the Netherlands became a possession of the crown of Spain 
although hundreds of miles distant from the Spanish territory! 
Charles, in whom this possession centered, was, on the death of 
Maximilian in 1519, elected emperor of Germany, and, under the 
title of Charles V., became one of the most powerful monarchs in 
Europe. His sv/ay extended over Spain, Germany, Naples, the 
Netherlands, and several other minor states in Europe, besides all 
the colonies and conquests of Spain in Asia, Africa, and America. 
One might expect that the Netherlands, forming as they did 
but a very insignificant portion of this immense empire, would 
suffer from being under the same government with so many other 
states : but Charles Y. had been born in the Netherlands ; he 
hked its people, and was acquainted with their character; and 
therefore, while he governed the rest of his dominions with a 
strict and sometimes a despotic hand, he respected almost lov- 
ingly the ancient laws and the strong hberty-feeling of his people 
of the Netherlands. The only exception of any consequence was 
his persecution of those who had embraced the doctrines of the 
Eeformation. As emperor of Germany, he had conceived him- 
self bound to adopt vigorous measures to suppress the opinions 
promulgated by Luther; and when, in spite. of his efforts, the 
heresy spread all round, and infected the Netherlands, he did his 
best for some time to root it out there also. The number of those 
who, in the Netherlands, suffered death for their religion durino- 
the reio-n of Charles V., is stated by the old historians at 50,000. 
Towards the end of his reign, however, he relaxed these- seve- 
rities. 

In 1555, Charles V., worn out by the cares of his long reign, 
resigned his sovereignty, and retired to a monastery. His large 
empire was now divided into two. His brother Ferdinand was 
created emperor of Germany; and the rest of his dominions, 
including Spain and the Netherlands, were inherited by his son, 
Philip II. 

Philip was born at Valladolid, in Spain, in the year 1521. 
Educated by the ablest ecclesiastics, he manifested from his early 
years a profound, cautious, dissimulating genius j a cold, proud, 



WILLIAM OF ORANGE AND THE NETHERLANDS. 

mirthless disposition; and an intense big-otry on relig-ious sub- 
jects. At the ag-e of sixteen he married a prnicess of Portug-al, 
who died soon after, leaving- him a son, Don Carlos. In 1048, 
Charles V., desirous that his son should cultivate the good-will 
of his future subjects of the Netherlands, called him from Spain 
to Brussels ; but during his residence there, and in other cities of 
the Netherlands, his conduct was so haughty, austere, and un- 
bending, that the burghers began to dread the time when, instead 
of their own countryman Clitirles, they should have this foreigner 
for their king. In 1504, Philip, pursuing his father's scheme for 
adding England to the territories of the Spanish crown, went to 
London and married Mary, queen of England ; but after a re- 
sidence of fourteen months, he returned to the Netherlands, 
where his father formally resigned the government into his 
hands. 

Philip spent the first five years of his reign in the Netherlands, 
waiting the issue of a war in which he was engaged with France. 
During this period his Flemish and Dutch subjects began to 
have some experience of his government. They observed with 
alarm that the king hated the country, and distrusted its people. 
He would speak no other language than Spanish ; his counsellors 
were Spaniards ; he kept Spaniards alone about his person ; and 
it was to Spaniards that all vacant posts were assigned. Besides, 
certain of his measures gave great dissatisfaction. He re-enacted 
the persecuting edicts against the Protestants, which his father 
in the end of his reign had suffered to fall into disuse ; and the 
severities which ensued began to drive hundreds of the most use- 
ful citizens out of the country, as well as to injure trade, by de- 
terring Protestant merchants from the Dutch and Flemish ports. 
Dark hints, too, were thrown out that he intended to establish 
an ecclesiastical court in the Netherlands similar to the Spanish 
Inquisition, and the spirit of Catholics as well as of Protestants 
revolted from the thouirht that this chamber of horrors should 
ever become one of the mstitutions of their free land. He had 
also increased the number of the bishops in the Netherlands from 
five to seventeen ; and this was regarded as the mere appointment 
of twelve persons devoted to the Spanish interest, who would 
help, if necessary, lo overawe the i)eo])le. Lastly, he kept the 
provinces full of Spanish troops ; and this was a direct violation 
of a fundamental law of the countrj^. Ag-ainst these measures 
the nobles and citizens complained bitterly, and from them drew 
sad anticipations of the future. Nor wei'e thfj more satislied 
with the address in which, through the bishop of Arras as his 
spokesman, he took farewell of them at a convention of the 
states held at Ghent previous to his de])arture for Spain. The 
oration recommended severity against heresy, and only promised 
the withdrawal of the foreig-n troops. TJie reply of the states 
was tinn and bold, and the recollection of it must have rankled 
afterwards in the revengeful mind of Philip. " I would rather 

s 



WILLIAM OF ORANGE AND THE NETHERLANDS. 

be no king- at all/' he said to one of liis ministers at the time, 
"than have heretics for my subjects." But suppressing' his re- 
sentment in the meantime, he set sail for Spain in August 1559, 
leaving' his half-sister, the Duchess of Parma, a natural daughter 
of Charles V., to act as his viceroy in the Netherlands. 

The duchess was to be assisted in the government by a Council 
of State consisting of the six following persons : Antony de Gran- 
velle, bishop of Arras, and afterwards a cardinal ; the Count de 
Barlaimont, Viglius de Quichem, the Count Horn, the Count 
Egmont, and the Prince of Orange. Three of these, Gran- 
velle, Barlaimont, and Viglius, were devoted to the Spanish 
interest, and were therefore very unpopular in the Netherlands ; 
the others were men of tried patriotism, from whose presence 
in the council much good might be expected. Granvelle was a 
man of extraordinary political abilities, and the fit minister of 
such a king as the moody and scheming Philip ; Barlaimont had 
also distinguished himself; and in all the country there was not 
so eminent a lawyer as Viglius. Counts Egmont and Horn were 
two of the most promising men in the Netherlands, and both of 
them had rendered services of no ordinary kind to Philip by 
their conduct in the war with France. Of the Prince of Orange, 
the principal personage in this struggle, and the true hero of the 
Netherlands, we must speak more particularly. 

William of Nassau, Prince of Orange, sometimes called William 
I., was born at the castle of Dillembourg, in Germany, in 1533. 
He was the son of William, Count of Nassau, and the heir there- 
fore of the large possessions of the house of Nassau in France 
and Germany, and in the Netherlands. At the age of eleven 
years he had succeeded, besides, to the French princedom of 
Orange, by the will of his cousin Rene of Nassau ; so that before 
he arrived at manhood, he was one of the richest and most 
powerful noblemen in Europe. William was educated in the 
principles of the Reformation ; but having entered, when quite 
a boy, into the employment of the Emperor Charles V., he 
changed the habits of a Protestant for those of a Roman Catho- 
lic ; and accordingly, at the time at which we introduce him 
to our readers, he was conscientiously a Catholic, although by 
no means a bigoted, nor even perhaps what the Spaniards would 
have called a sound one. The Emperor Charles, who, like all 
such men, possessed a shrewd insight into character, and could 
pick out by a glance the men of mind and talent from among 
those who came within his notice, had from the first singled out 
the young Prince of Orange as a person from whom great things 
were to be expected. Accordingly, in the employment of Charles, 
Prince William had had ample opportunities of displaj'-ing the 
two kinds of ability then most in request, and which every public 
man of that age, except he were an ecclesiastic, was required 
to combine — diplomatic and military talent. While yet scarcely 
more than twenty years of age, he had risen to be the first 

4 



WILLIAM OF ORANGE AND THE NETHERLANDS. 

man in the emperor's reg-ard. And this liking" of Charles for him 
was not merely of that kind which an elderly and experienced 
man sometimes contracts for a fresh-hearted and enthusiastic 
youth ; it was a real friendship on equal terms ; for so hig-hly did 
he value the prudence and wisdom of the young warrior and 
politician, that he confided to him the g-reatest state secrets ; and 
was often heard to say that from the Prince of Orang-e he had 
received many very important political hints. It was on the arm 
of William of Orange that Charles had leant for support on the 
memorable day when, in the Assembly of the States at Brussels, 
he rose feebly from his seat, and declared his abdication of the 
sovereign power. And it is said that one of Charles's last advices 
to his son Philip was to cultivate the good-will of the people of 
the Netherlands, and especially to defer to the counsels of the 
Prince of Orange. When, therefore, in the year 1555, Philip 
began his rule in the Netherlands, there were few persons who 
were either better entitled or more truly disposed to act the part of 
iaithful and loyal advisers than William of Nassau, then twenty- 
two years of ag-e. But close as had been William's relation to 
the late emperor, there were stronger principles and feelings in 
his mind than gratitude to the son of the man he had loved. 
He had thou^-ht deeply on the question, how a nation should be 
governed, and had come to entertain opinions very hostile to 
arbitrary power ; he had observed what appeared to him, even as 
a Catholic, gross blunders in the mode of treating religious diffe- 
rences ; he had imbibed deeply the Dutch spirit of independence ; 
and it was the most earnest wish of his heart to see the Nether- 
lands prosperous and happ}'. Nor was he at all a visionary'", or a 
man whose activity would be officious and troublesome ; he was 
eminently a practical man, one who had a strong sense of Avhat 
is expedient in existing circumstances ; and his manner was so 
grave and quiet, that he obtained the name of William the 
Silent. Still, many things occurred during Philip's five years' 
residence in the Netherlands to make him speak out and remon- 
strate. He was one of those who had tried to persuade the king 
to use gentler and more popular measures, and the consequence 
was, that a decided aversion grew up in the dark and haughty 
mind of Philip to the Prince of Orange. 

PERSECUTIONS COMMENCE. 

Having thus introduced the Prince of Orjinge to the reader, 
we return to the history of the Netherlands, which were now 
under the local management of the Duchess of Parma. The 
administration of this female viceroy produced violent discontent. 
The persecutions of the Protestants were becoming so tierce 
that over and above the suffering inflicted on individuals, the 
commerce of the country was sensibly falling off. The establish- 
ment of a court like the Inquisition was still in contemplation ; 
Spaniards were still appointed to places of trust in preference to 

5 



WILLIAM OF ORAXGE AND THE NETHERLANDS, 

Pleming-s ; and finally, tlie Spanish soldiers, wlio oug'lit to have 
heen removed long ago, were still burdening the country with 
their presence. The woes of the people were becoming intoler- 
able ; occasionally there were slight outbreaks of violence ; and 
a low murmur of vehement feeling ran through the whole 
population, foreboding a general eruption. " Our poor father- 
land," they said to each other ; " God has afflicted it with two 
enemies, water and Spaniards : we have built dykes, and over- 
come the one, but how shall we get- rid of the other ? Why, 
if nothing better occur, we know one way at least, and we shall 
keep it in reserve — we can set the two enemies against each 
other. We can break down the dykes, inundate the country, 
and let the water and the Spaniards fight it out between them." 
Granvelle was the object of their special hatred : to him they 
attributed every unpopular measure. At length a confederacy of 
influential persons was formed to procure his recall ; the Prince 
of Orange placed himself at the head of it ; and, by persevering 
effort, it succeeded in its end, and Granvelle left the Netherlands 
early in 1564. 

The recall of Granvelle did not restore tranquillity. Viglius 
and Barlaimont continued to act in the same spirit. Private com- 
munications from Spain directed the regent to follow their advice, 
and to disregard the counsels of the Orange party ; and the 
obnoxious edicts against the Protestants were still put in force. 
About this time, too, the decrees of the famous Council of Trent, 
which had been convened in 1545 to take into consideration the 
state of the church, and the means of suppressing the Reforma- 
tion, and which had closed its sittings in the end of 1563, were 
made public ; and Philip, the most zealous Catholic of his time, 
issued immediate orders for their being enforced both in Spain 
and the Netherlands. In Spain the decrees were received as a 
matter of course ; but at the announcement that they were to be 
executed in the Netherlands, the whole country burst out in 
a storm of indignation. In many places the decrees were not 
executed at all ; and wherever the authorities did attempt to 
execute them, the people rose and compelled them to desist. 

In this dilemma the regent resolved to send an ambassador to 
Spain to represent the state of affairs to Philip better than could 
be done in writing, and to receive his instructions how she should 
proceed. Count Egmont was the person chosen ; because, in 
addition to his great merits as a subject of Philip, he was one of 
the most popular noblemen in the Netherlands. Setting out for 
Spain early in 1565, he was received by Philip in the most cour- 
teous manner, loaded with marks of kindness, and dismissed with 
a thorough conviction that the king intended to pursue a milder 
policy in the future government of the Low Countries. Philip, 
however, had but deceived him ; and at the time when he was 
flattering him with hopes of concessions, he was despatching 
orders to the regent strictly to put in force the decrees of the 

6 



WILLIAM OF ORANGE AND THE NETHERLANDS. 

Council of Trent, and in all things to carry out the king's re- 
solute purpose of exting-uishing; heresy in the Netherlands. In 
vain did the Prince of Orang-e and the Counts Horn and Eg-mont 
protest that a civil war would be the consequence ; in vain did 
the people lament, threaten, and murmur : the decrees were re- 
published, and the inquisitors began to select their victims. All 
that the three patriotic noblemen could do was to retire from the 
council, and wash their hands of the guilt which the government 
was incurring. There were others, however, who, impatient of 
the inflictions with which Philip's obstinacy was visitin^" the 
country, resolved on a bolder, and, as it appeared, less considerate 
mode of action. A political club or confederacy was organised 
amqng the nobility, for the express purpose of resisting the estab- 
lishment of the Inquisition. Tliey bound themselves by a solemn 
oath " to oppose the introduction of the Inquisition, whether it 
were attempted openly or secretly, or by whatever name it should 
be called ; " and also to protect and defend each other from all 
the consequences which might result from their having formed 
this league. 

Perplexed and alarmed, the regent implored the Prince of 
Orange and his two associates, Counts Egmont and Horn, to 
return to the council and give her their advice. They did so : 
and a speech of the Prince of Orange, in which he asserted 
strongly the utter folly of attempting to suppress opinion by 
force, and argued that " such is the nature of heresy, that if it 
rests it rusts, but whoever rubs it whets it," had the effect of in- 
clining the regent to mitigate the ferocity of her former edicts. 
Meanwhile the confederates were becoming bolder and more 
numerous. Assembling in great numbers at Brussels, they walked 
in procession throu^'h the streets to the palace of the regent, 
■where they were admitted to an interview. In reply to their 
petition, she said that she was very willing to send one or more 
persons to Spain to lay the complaints before the king. Obliged 
to be content with this answer, the confederates withdrew. 
Next day three hundred of them met at a grand entertainment 
given to them by one of their number. Among other things, it 
was debated what name they should assume. " Oh," said one of 
them, " did you not hear the Count de Barlaimont yesterday 
whisper to the regent, when he was standing l)y her side, that 
she need not be afraid ' of such a set of beggars 1 ' Let us call our- 
selves The Beggars; we could not find a better name." The pro- 
posal was enthusiastically agreed to ; and, amid deafening uproar, 
the whole company tilled and shattered their glasses to the toast, 
Long live the Bego^ars ! {Gueux.) In the full spirit of the freak, 
the host sent out for a beggar's wallet and a wooden bowl ; and 
slinging the wallet across fiis back amidst clamours of applause, 
he drank ivom. the bowl, and declared he would lose life and for- 
tune for the great cause of the Beggars. The bowl went round, 
and all made the same enthusiastic declaration. From that day 

7 



WILLIAM OF ORANGE AND THE NETHERLANDS. 

the Gueux, or Beg-g-ars, became tlie name of the faction ; and 
every one wore the wallet, or some other symbol of mendi- 
cancy. 

While the nobles and influential persons were thus preparing" 
to co-operate, in case of a collision with the Spanish g-overnment, 
a sudden and disastrous movement occurred among* the lower 
classes. In times of general excitement, it frequently happens 
that malice or accident casts abroad among the people some wild 
and incredible rumour; such was the case on the present occasion. 
Intelligence spread with rapidity through the towns and cities of 
Flanders that the regent had given her permission for the public 
exercise of the Protestant form of worship ; multitudes poured 
out into the fields after their preachers ; congregations of many 
thousands assembled ; and the local authorities found themselves 
powerless. A great proportion of these congregations were doubt- 
less pious and peacefullj^-disposed Protestants ; but taking advan- 
tage of the ferment, many idle and disorderly persons joined them^ 
and by their efforts the general cause was disgraced. In Tourne}'-, 
Ypres, Valenciennes, and other towns, the mob of real or assumed 
Protestants broke into the churches, and destroyed the altars 
and all the symbols of worship in the Roman Catholic ritual. 
Antwerp was for some time protected from similar outrages by 
the presence of the Prince of Orange ; but when he was sum- 
moned by the regent to Brussels, the fury of the people broke 
out unrestrained. The great cathedral was the principal object- 
of their dislike. Hushing to it in thousands, they shattered the 
painted windows with stones, tore down the images, and dashed 
them against the pavement; slit up the splendid pictures, and 
broke in pieces the large organ, then believed to be the finest in 
Europe. For many days the Iconoclasts, or Image-breakers, as . 
they were called, continued their ravages in almost all the towns 
of Flanders and Brabant. The contagion was spreading like- 
wise in Zealand and Holland, and more than 400 chm^ches had 
been destroyed, when the Prince of Orange, Counts Egmont 
and Horn, and other patriotic noblemen, then at Brussels in 
consultation with the regent, both vexed at the outrages them- 
selves, and fearful that the cause of liberty in the Netherlands 
might suffer from them, hastened into their respective provinces, 
and partly by force, partly by persuasion, succeeded in restoring 
order. It is deeply to be regretted that such excesses should 
have stained the sacred cause of libert^^; but this was an age 
when little was known of religious toleration, the uppermost 
sect, whatever it was, making it almost a duty to ojjpress the 
others. For these outrages, we presume, the Protestants of the 
Netherlands in the present day are as sorry as are the Roman 
Catholics for the unjustifiable cruelties perpetrated in their 
name. 

After the interview between the Gueux and the regent men^ 
tioucd above, an ambassador had been sent to Philip in Spain to. 

8 



WILLIAM OF ORANGE AND THE NETHERLANDS. 

detail grievances. Instead of deferring' to his representations, 
Philip "and his counsellors, one of whom was Granvelle, were 
resolutely preparing means to crush the confederacy, and break 
the proud spirit of the Netherlands. Secret orders were g'iven 
for the collection of troops ; the regent was to be instructed to 
amuse the patriots until the means of punishing them were ready ; 
and in a short time, it was hoped, there would no longer be a 
.patriot or a heretic in the Low Countries. It is easy to conceive 
with what rage and bitterness of heart Philip, while indulging- 
these dreams, must have received intelligence of the terrible 
doings of the Iconoclasts. But, as cautious and dissimulating* as 
he was obstinate and revengeful, he concealed his intentions in 
the meantime, announced them to the regent only in secret 
letters and despatches, and held out hopes in public to the 
patriots and the people of the Netherlands that he was soon to 
pay them a visit in person to inquire into the condition of affairs. 

It has never been clearly ascertained by what means it was 
that the Prince of Orange contrived to obtain intellig-ence of 
Philip's most secret plans and purposes ; but certain it is that 
nothing passed in the cabinet at Madrid which did not find its 
way to the ears of the prince. Philip's intentions with regard to 
the Netherlands became known to him by means of a letter to 
the regent from the Spanish ambassador at Paris, a copy of 
which he had procured. The prince had hitherto endeavoured 
to act as a loyal subject ; but this letter made it plain that it 
was time to be making preparations for a decided rupture. His 
first step therefore was to hold a conference with four other 
noblemen ; namely, his brother, Louis of Nassau, and the Counts 
Egmont, Horn, and Hoogstraten. He laid the letter before 
them, and the eifect was as might have been expected on all 
of them, except Count Egmont ; for, by some infatuation, this 
nobleman, mindful of the kindness he had experienced from 
Philip when visiting him as ambassador, persisted in believing 
that the king's designs were really conciliatory. In vain the 
prince argued with him ; the count would not be convinced, and 
the conference was broken up. Meantime the people, warned 
hy the prince of the approach of an array, began to emigrate in 
great numbers ; and, after waiting to the last moment, William 
himself, in April 1567, withdrcAv with his family to his estates 
in Germany. Most earnestly did he try to persuade Count 
Egmont to accompany him ; but his intreaties were to no pur- 
|)ose ; and he left him with these words — " I tell you, Egmont, 
you are a bridge by which the Spaniards will come into this 
country ; they will pass over you, and then break you down." 

The n>an whom Philip had sent into the Netherlands at the 
head of the army as the fit instrument of his purposes of ven- 
geance, was the Duke of Alva, a personage who united the most 
consummate military skill with the disposition of a ruffian, ready 
10 undertake any enterprise, however base. Such was the mail 
S 9 



WILLIAM OF ORAJfGE AXD THE NETHERLANDS. 

who, at the age of sixty, in the month of August 1567, made his 
entry into the Netherlands by the province of Luxemburg, at the 
head of an army of fifteen thousand men. One of his first acts, 
after arriving at Brussels, was to seize the Counts Egmont and 
Horn, and send them prisoners to Ghent. This and other acts 
convinced the Duchess of Parma that she was no longer the real 
regent of the Netherlands ; and accordingly, having asked and 
obtained leave to resign, she quitted the country early in 1568, 
Alva assuming the government instead. 

Now that a grand struggle was to ensue in the Netherlands^ 
we trust our readers clearly understand what it was about. On 
the one hand was a nation of quiet, orderly people, industrious 
in a high degree, prosperous in their commerce, and disposed to 
remain peaceful subjects of a foreign monarch : all they asked 
was to be let alone, and to be allowed to worship God in the way 
they preferred. On the other hand was a sovereign, who, un- 
thankful for the blessing of reigning over such a happy and 
well-disposed nation, and stimulated by passion and bigotry, re* 
solved on compelling them all to be Catholics. 

CRUELTIES OF ALVA. 

Alva was a suitable instrupient to work out Philip's designs. 
Supported by a powerful army, he was unscrupulous in his per- 
secution. Blood was shed like water ; the scaflPolds were crowded 
with victims ; the prisons filled with men in all the agonies of 
suspense. He appointed a court, called the Court of Tumults, to 
investigate with rigour into past offences. The Inquisition alsa 
pursued its diabolical vocation without opposition or disguise, 
covering the land with its black and baleful shadow. Here- 
tics hid their heads, glad if present conformity would save 
them from the tortures which others were enduring for actions 
which they had thought forgotten. Above 18,000 persons in 
all are said to have suffered death by Alva's orders. And 
thousands more fled from the country, dispersing themselves 
through France and Germany ; many of them also finding au 
asylum in England, into which, being kindly received by Queen 
Elizabeth, they carried those arts and habits which had raised 
the Flemings high among commercial nations, and which at 
once incorporated themselves with the genial civilisation of 
England. The Prince of Orange was declared a rebel ; and his 
eldest son, the Count de Buren, then a student at the university 
of Louvain, was seized and sent a prisoner into Spain. But 
perhaps the most signal act of cruelty in the beginning of Alva's 
reg-ency was the execution of the Counts Egmont and Horn. 
Alter an imprisonment of nine months, these unfortunate noble- 
men were brought to a mock trial, and beheaded at Brussels. 
So popular were they, and so universal was the sympathy^ for 
their fate, that even the presence of the executioner, and of the 
spies who surrounded the scaffold, could not prevent the citizens 

10 



"WILLIAM OF ORANGE AND THE NETHERLANDS. 

of Brussels from dipping' tlieir handkercliiefs in the blood, and 
treasuring" tliem up as relics. 

The Prince of Orange, residing on his family estates of Nassau 
in Germany, was attentively observing all that was going on in 
the Netherlands, and making diligent preparations for an at- 
tempt in their behalf. He entered into communication with 
Elizabeth, queen of England, with the leaders of the Huguenots 
in France, and with the various Protestant princes of Germany; 
and from all of these he received either actual assistance in men 
and money, or the promise of future support. To meet the ex- 
penses of the expedition he was fitting out, he sold his plate and 
furniture, and incurred debts on his estates. Having at length 
assembled a considerable force, he divided it into four armies, 
each of which was to march into the Netherlands by a different 
route. Before setting out, however, he thought it necessary to 
publish a manifesto to the world, in justification of a step so 
serious as engaging in hostilities with the forces of one whom he 
had hitherto acknowledged, and still wished to acknowledge, as 
his sovereign. In this manifesto, also, he made it known that 
he had changed his religious views : although hitherto a Catholic, 
he was now convinced that the doctrines of the Protestants were 
more agreeable to Scripture. 

The issue of this first attempt was unfortunate. In several en- 
gagements with the enemy, the different bands of patriots were 
successful. In one of them, Count Adolphus, a brother of the 
Prince of Orange, was killed in the moment of victory ; but at 
last Alva himself hurrying down to the frontier,^ the provisions 
of the prince's army beginning to fail, and winter drawing near, 
they were compelled to retire. The prince and his brother Count 
Louis led the remains of their army into France, to assist the Hu- 
guenots in the meantime, until there should be a better opening 
into the Netherlands. Alva, prouder of this success than he had 
been of any of his former victories, returned to Flanders, and 
caused medals to be struck and monuments to be raised in com- 
memoration of it, and, what was most offensive to all the people, 
a brass statue of himself, in a heroic attitude, to be erected at 
Antwerp. Delivered now from the fear of any interruption from 
the Prince of Orange, he resumed his exactions and his cruelties ; 
and for four years he and the Inquisition carried on the work of 
persecution and blood. To detail the history of these four years 
of tyranny is impossible ; we can but sketch the line of the prin- 
cipal events, and show how the minds of the people were ripened 
for the final struggle. 

The Duke of Alva was greatly in want of money to pay his 
troops, maintain the fortifications of the various towns, and carry 
on his government ; and Alva was not the man to respect, even 
if the times had been less disturbed than they were, the ancient 
right which the people of the Netherlands claimed of taxing 
themselves through then* Assembly of States. Accordingly, with 



WILLIAM OF ORANGE AND THE NETHERLANDS. 

a soldier-like impatience of indirect taxation, lie determined to 
accumulate a vast sura of money by a very summary process. 
Pie imposed three taxes : the lirst an immediate tax of one 
per cent, on all property, personal or real ; the second an an- 
nual tax of twenty per cent, on all heritable property ; and the 
third a tax of ten per cent, on every sale or transfer of goods. 
Crushed and broken-spirited by all that they had already endured, 
the bui^g'hers stood utterly ag-hast at this new infliction. Persecu- 
tion for relig-ion's sake was hard to bear, and the Inquisition was 
very obnoxious, still it was but a portion of the population that 
actually suffered personally in such cases ; but here was a visita- 
tion which came home to every Fleming" and every Dutchman, 
and seemed but a prelude of utter ruin. Three such taxes as these 
of Governor Alva were never heard of within the memory of man. 
Utterly amazed and bewildered at first, the burg-hers at leng-th 
ti'ied to argue, and singled out the third of the taxes as the spe- 
cial subject of their representations. A tax of ten per cent, on sales 
of goods would amount in many cases, they said, to the value 
of the commodities themselves ; since the same commodities were 
often transferred from one person to another, and from him 
to a third, a fourth, a fifth, a sixth, before they came into the 
hands of the consumer. In vain did the states make these re- 
monstrances ; in vain did Viglius, the president of the council, 
second them ; in vain even did the states offer to pay a large sum 
in lieu of the proposed taxes. Alva was inexorable. At length 
the general convention of the states, after procuring a few paltry 
concessions, was obliged to yield to the imposition of the taxes : 
on this condition, however, that all the states, without exception, 
should give in their adherence. This was a condition, as it 
proved, of singular importance ; for, gifted with greater boldness 
and resolution than the other provinces, Utrecht refused to com- 
ply with the governor's demands ; and, by nobly persevering in its 
resistance, not only raised a more determined spirit in the other 
provinces, but delayed the collection of the taxes so long, that in 
the meantime Alva received instructions from Spain to desist 
from measures calculated to produce such dangerous results. 
Alva's conduct, however, had already produced its effects ; and 
the people of the Netherlands had come to detest the very name 
of Spain. 

The Prince of Orange, who, after a short period of military 
service on the side of the Protestants in France, had returned to 
his estates in Germany, was earnestly intent on the condition 
of affairs in the Netherlands. All that could be done, however, 
was to harass the Spaniards as much as possible in the mean- 
time, and enter into negotiations with the Protestant powers of 
other countries, with a view to obtain the means necessary for 
a bolder conflict. Both these courses of action were adopted 
by William ; and it is a remarkable characteristic of his whole 
life, that even when he is least heard of, he was busy in secret. 

12 



WILLIAM OF ORANGE AND THE NETHERLANDS. 

"NMiile others were marching hither and thither, and performing 
heroic actions, they were but doing- the errands on which he 
had sent them : it was he who, whether living: in retirement in 
his castle in Nassau, or advancing into the Netherlands by the 
German frontier, or hovering in his shij) on the coasts of Holland 
and Zealand, was really at the centre of affairs, directing all the 
movements that were going on, arranging everything, foreseeing 
everything, taking charge of everything. Of William's military 
actions — his battles by sea and land — we hear much ; but his real 
g'reatness consisted in his prudence, his decision, his fertility in. 
stratagem, his statesmanlike width of view, his vast knowledge 
of men and of the state of Europe at the time ; and these are 
qualities which make less noise in histor}''. This peculiarity in 
the life of the Prince of Orange makes the name of WiUiam The 
Taciturn, which his contemporaries gave him, on account of the 
sparing use he made of speech, doubly significant. The mode of 
harassing Alva which the prince resolved upon at the period at 
which we have now arrived, was that of stationing 9, fleet of 
cruisers along the coasts of Zealand and Plolland, for th^ purpose 
not only of capturing- Spanish vessels, but also of seizing- on 
advantageous positions along- the shore. Nor was it difficult to 
obtain such a fleet. The unheard-of severities of Alva's regency 
had driven numbers of merchants with their ships into the ports 
of England. For some time the politic Elizabeth permitted them 
safe harbour and free commerce ; but at last, to prevent an open 
rupture with Philip, she forbade their reception. Compelled 
thus to make the sea their home, the Dutch and Flemish mei?- 
chants banded together, and placed themselves under the direo 
tion of the Prince of Orange, who commissioned them in the 
service of the Netherlands, authorising- them to capture all 
Spanish vessels for their own profit, except a fifth part of the 
prize-money, which William was to receive and apply for the 
good of the Netherlands. As another means of collecting- a suffi- 
cient sum of money for future necessities, William came to au 
understanding- with the itinerant Protestant preachers, who, even 
during the fiercest paroxysms of Alva's cruelty and the zeal of 
the new Inquisition, continued to walk through the country in 
disguise, teaching and consoling the people. These preachers 
William converted into civil functionaries, employing them to 
ask and receive contributions from the Protestant part of the 
community, now larger in many localities than the Catholic. 
Thus was William providing, as well as he could, that prim« 
necessary in all enterprises — money. 

Alva, enraged at the news he had received of the great damage 
done to the Spanish shipping b)-- the Dutch and Flemish vessels 
that swarmed on the coasts of Holland and Zealand, and doubly 
enraged when he heard that men had actually landed from 
several of these vessels, and taken a fort on the island of Bommel. 
issued an immediate order for the collection of the taxes he had 



WILLIAM OF ORANGE AND THE NETHERLANDS. 

previously imposed, money being now more necessary than 
ever. The people, however, protested that they were reduced 
to beggary already, and had no means of satisfying his de- 
mands ; and he had just erected seventeen gibbets in front of 
seventeen of the principal houses in Brussels, with the intention 
of hanging seventeen of the principal burgesses thereon, in order 
to terrify the rest into submission, when, after all was ready, 
and the very nooses had been made on the ends of the ropes, 
the news came into the town that the Dutch and Flemish ves- 
sels, under the bold and savage Count de la Marck, had made 
a descent on the island of Voorn and taken the town of Brille, 
which was reckoned one of the keys of the Netherlands. Alva was 
amazed : he had not time even to hang the seventeen burgesses. 
A council was held, and the Count de Bossut despatched with a 
body of Spanish troops to the island of Voorn. Bossut laid siege 
to Brille, and was in hopes of being able to reduce it with his 
artillery, when one of the townsmen swimming along a canal 
till he came to a sluice which the Spaniards had overlooked, 
broke it, and let in such a deluge of water as overflowed the 
artillery, drowned a number of the Spaniards, and forced the 
rest to take to their ships, all wet and dripping as they were. 
This victory roused a determined spirit of resolution among the 
inhabitants of Holland and Zealand. The town of Flushing set 
the example ; the towns of Dort, Gouda, Haarlem, and Leyden 
followed. In a short time all the towns of the two maritime 
provinces, except Amsterdam and Middleburg, had risen up 
and expelled their garrisons. In the provinces of Utrecht, 
Friesland, and Overyssel, similar risings took place. In this 
general movement the Protestants, unable to resist the oppor- 
tunity of revenging their own past sufferings, were guilty of 
some atrocities, particularly against the monks. 

The scheme of an insurrection in the maritime provinces hav- 
ing turned out according to his wishes, the Prince of Orange 
now advanced into the Netherlands by the French frontier, 
having succeeded, by negotiation with Protestant powers, and by 
the expenditure of money, in assembling an army of about 20,000 
men, consisting of Germans, French, English, and Scotch. With 
the strength of this army he now began to grapple with Alva in 
the very seat of his power — the southern provinces of Flanders, 
Brabant, and Antwerp. He first took the town of Mons, an 
important position near the French frontier; and ere long he 
had reduced several other important towns. This was the only 
mode of action by which he could make any impression ; for, in 
all cases of attempts to deliver a conquered country, the only 
mode of procedure is to root out the foreig'n garrisons of towns 
one by one ; and a general victory in the open field is only valu- 
able as conducing to that end, by either inducing the towns to 
surrender in despair, or making the process of besieging them 
less tedious. But at this time, after so much success, various 

14 



WILLIAM OF ORANGE AND THE NETHERLANDS. 

circumstances conspired both to diminish and dispirit his army. 
The most discoura<i,-ing' blow of all was the massacre of St Bar- 
tholomew, in which, on the nig-ht of the 24th of Aug-ust 157-2, 
more than 60,000 of the Protestants of France perished. By 
this event, all hope of assistance from France was destroyed; 
and, after several fruitless eng;agements with Alva's army, \\ il- 
liam was oblisred to disband his forces, and to retire from active 
military operation. 

The condition of the Netherlands was now as follows :— Alva 
was nomuially their governor ; but in the late struggle, no fewer 
than sixty or seventy towns, principally in Holland, Zealand, 
and Flanders, had thrown otf the yoke, and now bade defiance 
to the Spanish government. Unless these towns were recovered, 
Philip could no longer be said to be king of the Netherlands. 
Alva's exertions were therefore devoted to the recovery of these 
towns; and his officers were almost all employed in sieges. 
ilons,'Tergoes, Mechlin, Zutphen, and Naerden, were succes- 
sively reduced ; and so dreadful were the enormities perpetrated 
by the Spanish soldiers, that the citizens, after the surrender of 
other towns, resolved to exhaust every means of resistance rather 
than submit. The town of Haarlem distinguished itself by the 
desperate bravery with which for seven months it stood out 
against a large army under Alva's son. At length, trusting to a 
truce ^vith the Spaniard, the famished citizens agreed to sur- 
render. The siege, some accounts say, had cost the Spaniards 
10,000 men ; and now they took a fearful vengeance. Hundreds 
of the most respectable citizens were executed ; and when the 
four executioners were tired of their bloody work, they tied their 
victims two by two together, and flung them into the lake of 
Haarlem. As showing how deep a hold the great struggle of 
the sixteenth century has taken of the popular memory, and how 
many local associations there are connected with it, we may 
quote the following account of a curious Haarlem custom, the 
orio-in of which is traced to the siege of the city in 1572 :—'• In 
walking through the streets of Haarlem, we saw a rather 
curious" memorial of these disastrous times. At the sides of the 
doors of various houses hung a small neatly-framed board, on 
which was spread a piece of line lace-work of an oval form, resem- 
bUng the top of a lady's cap with a border : the object, indeed, 
on a^'casual inspection, might have been taken for a lady's cap 
hung out to dry. Beneath it, to show the transparency of the lace, 
there was placed a piece of pink paper or silk. On asking the 
meaning of these exhibitions, I was informed that they origi- 
nated in a circumstance which occurred at the siege of Haarlem. 
Before surrendering the town, a deputation of aged matrons 
waited on the Spanish general to know in what manner the 
women who were at the time in childbirth should be protected 
from molestation in case of the introduction of the soldiery ; and 
he requested that at the door of each house containing a female 



WILLIAM OF ORANGE AND THE NETHERLANDS. 

SO situated an appropriate token should be hung" out, and pro 
inised that that house should not be troubled. This, according 
to the tradition, was attended to ; and till the present day, every 
house in which there is a female in this condition is disting-uished 
in. the manner I have mentioned. The lace is hung* out several 
weeks previous to the expected birth, and hangs several weeks 
afterwards, a small alteration being- made as soon as the sex of 
the child is known. I was further assured, that during the time 
which is allowed for these exhibitions, the house is exempted 
from all legal execution, and that the husband cannot be taken 
to serve as a soldier." * 

While Alva was thus engaged in retrieving" the revolted dis- 
tricts, his king at Madrid was growing dissatisfied with his 
conduct. He began to think that he had made an error in 
sending- such a man into the Netherlands, who could scarcely 
make a discrimination in his cruelties between Protestants and 
Cathohcs ; and he looked about for a general to succeed him. 
He found such a person in Don Luis Zanega y Requesens, com- 
mander of the order of Malta, a true Catholic, but a man of 
calm and temperate mind. Requesens accordingly made his 
entry into Brussels on the 17th of November 1573 ; and the 
stern old Alva returned to Spain, to be ill-treated by a master 
whom he had served too faithfully. 

WAR CONTINUED — SIEGE OF LEYDEN. 

In the civil government of the country, Requesens pursued 
quite a different line of poHcy from his predecessor. He began 
liis rule by breaking down the brass statue which Alva had 
erected of himself at Antwerp, dissohing the Council of Tumults, 
abandoning the obnoxious taxes, and publishing an amnesty for 
past offences committed by the inhabitants of the revolted dis- 
tricts. But while thus changing" the whole tone of the govern- 
ment, he was obliged to continue all those military operations 
which Alva had begun, for the purpose of compelling the rebel 
cities of Holland and Zealand to reacknowledge the sovereignty 
of Philip. The first object of his attention was the town of 
Middleburg in Zealand, which had been kept in a state of close 
siege by the patriots for about a year and a half, and the loss of 
which would be a severe blow to the Spanish cause. He caused 
a large fleet to be collected, and appointing- two able admirals 
to the command of it, he went on board one of the ships himself, 
and sailed down the Scheldt for the relief of the town. The 
Prince of Orange, then in Holland, immediately hastened to the 
critical spot ; and by his directions, the fleet of the patriots under 
Boissot, admiral of'PIolland, met the Spanish one, and engaging" 
with it on the SOth of January lo74, gained a complete victory, 
sinking the ship of one of the Spanish admirals, and obliging 

♦ Chambers's Tour in Holland and Belgium. 



WILLIAM OF ORANGB AND THE NETHERLANDS. 

the other to swim for his life. "Requesens himself stood on the 
dyke of Sacherlo, and witnessed the disaster. After this the 
town of Middleburg- siirrendei-ed to the Prince of Orang-e ; and 
the rause of the patriots in the maritime provinces appeared 
more hopeful than ever. In the meantime, two of the prince's 
brothei-s, Count Louis and Count Heniy of Nassau, wno had 
for some time been residinir in Germany, advanced at the head 
of an army in the dii'ection of the Maas, with the intention of 
excitinir the inland pro\inces to assume a position similar to 
that which Holland and Zealand were so nobly maintaining". 
The issue of this attempt was fatal. Requesens had despatched 
a strong" force to oppose them ; and on the 14th of Apiil a battle 
was fought between the two armies near the village of Mooch : 
the royalists were victorious, and the two brave princes were 
killetl. This defeat, and the death of two men so eminent and 
so popular, were indeed a heavy blow to the patriots ; but its 
consequences were far less severe than they mig"ht have been. 
The Spanish troops, Avho had a long* arrear of pay due them, 
became mutinous and unmanao'eable after the victory, and 
threatened to pillage Antwerp. Requesens contrived at length 
to appease them for the time by raising: a hundred thousand 
florins from the citizens, pledging- his own jewels, and melting- 
down his plate to raise more, and granting- the mutineers a free 
pai*don. But the interval had been of use to the patriots ; for 
a larg'e fleet having- been equipped by Requesens, and having- 
been removed, during- the mutiny, from Antwerp, where it was 
lying-, a little way down the Scheldt, to be out of the reach of 
the soldiers, Boissot, the Zealand admiral, boldly sailed up the 
river, took foi*ty of the ships, and shattered and sunk many 
more. At lengrth, however, the mutineers returned to their duty ; 
and Requesens, having- vainl}- tried in the fii'st place to end the 
war by a proclamation of the king's pardon to all his Catholic 
subjects in the Netherlands, collected his whole force for the 
sie^e of the larg-e and populous city of Leyden. 

The story of this siegre is one of the most spirit-stirring: in 
the annals of heroism. Leyden stands in a low situation in" the 
midst of a labyrinth of rivulets and canals. That branch of 
the Rhine which still retains its ancient name passes thi'oug-h 
the middle of it ; and from this stream such an inlinity of canals 
are derived, that it is difficult to say whether the water or the 
land possesses the g-reater space. By these canals the "-round 
on which the city stands is divided into a g-reat number ot small 
islands, united together by bridg-es. For Hve months all other 
operations were suspended ; all the energy of Requesens, on the 
one hand, was directed towards g-etting- possession of this city; 
and ail the energy of the Prince of Orang-e, on the other hand, 
towards assisting- the citizens, and preventing- it from being- 
taken. The issue depended entirely, however, on the bravery 
and resolution of the citizens of Leyden themselves. Pent up 

17 



WILLIAM OF ORANGE AND THE NETHERLANDS. 

witliin tlieir walls, tliej had to resist the attacks and stratag-ems 
•of the besiegers ; and all that the Prince of Orange could do, 
was to occupy the surrounding country, harass the besiegers as 
much as possible, and enable the citizens to hold out, by con- 
veying to them supplies of provisions and men. 

Nobly, nay, up to the highest heroic pitch of human nature, 
did the citizens behave. They had to endure a siege in its most 
dreary form, that of blockade. Instead of attempting to storm 
the town, Valdez, the Spanish general, resolved to reduce it by 
the slow but sure process of starvation. For this purpose he 
completely surrounded the town by a circle of forts, more than 
sixty in number ; and the inhabitants thus saw themselves walled 
completely in from all the rest of the earth, with its growing 
■crops and its well-filled granaries, and restricted entirely to 
whatever quantity of provisions there chanced to be on the small 
spot of ground which they walked up and down in. They had 
no means even of communicating "u*ith the Prince of Orange 
and their other friends outside, except by carrier-pigeons, which 
were trained for the purpose. One attempt was made by the 
citizens to break through the line of blockade, for the sake of 
keeping possession of a piece of pasture-ground for their cattle ; 
but it was unsuccessful ; and they began now to work day and 
night at repairing their fortifications, so as to resist the Spanish 
batteries when they should begin to play. Like fire pent up, 
the patriotism of the inhabitants bui'ned more fiercely and 
brightly ; every man became a hero, every woman an orator, 
and words of flashing genius were spoken, and deeds of wild 
bravery done, such as would have been impossible except among 
20,000 human beings living in the same city, and all roused at 
once to the same unnatural state of emotion. The two leading 
spirits were John Van der Does, the commander, better known 
by his Latinised name of Dousa, as one of the best writers of 
Latin verse at that time, when so many able men devoted them- 
selves to this kind of literary exercise ; and Peter Van der Werf, 
the burgomaster. Under the management of these two men, 
every precaution was adopted that was necessary for the defence 
of the city. The resolution come to was, that the last man 
among them should die of want rather than admit the Spa- 
niards into the town. Coolly, and with a foresight thoroughly 
Dutch, Dousa and Van der Werf set about making an inven- 
tory of all that wds eatable in the town; corn, cattle, nay, 
even horses and dogs; calculating how long the stock could 
last at the rate of so much a day to every man and woman 
in the city ; adopting means to get the whole placed under the 
management of a dispensing committee ; and deciding what 
should be the allowance per head at first, so as to prevent their 
stock from being eaten up too fast. It was impossible, how- 
ever, to collect all the food into one fund, or to regulate 
its consumption by municipal arrangements ; and after two 

18 



WILLIAM OF ORAKQE AND THE KETHERLANDS. 

months had ekpsed, fan.ine had eornmenc^d » ^^ K^fbe 
devices for mitisating the o^nawings ot hunger oe^dii lu 
employed which'none but starving men could bear to hmk 
f * Nnf nnltr the flesh of doss and horses, but root», ^eeds, 
neVtle. ever ^'^■een thing that'-the eye could detect shooting up 

"we ""ill eat oir left hands, keeping the right to fight with 
Once indeed, hunger seemed to overcome their patriotism, and 

?or ime da^s ciwds of gaunt and f^-i*/,-!. -^f ^^^Xd'^ 
i,1oT,o- the streets crying, " Let the Spaniards in, oh, lor uoa s 
slke^let them in."^ a1 embling with hoarse clamours at the 
hou'e of Van deiAVerf, they demanded that he should give them 
td, 0° else surrender.' "[have no food to g- yo<' was Oie 
hiir^master's reply, " and I have sworn that I will not sur 
Se. to t e S'p^ni^a'rds; but if my body will be of any service 
to you tear me to pieces, and let the hun-riest of you eat me 
Thrpoor wretches' went away, and thought no more of surren- 

^^Thf thou-ht of the Prince of Orange night and day was how 
to render "Tssistance to the citizens of Leyden-how to convey 
;,.r,vWons into the town. He had collected a large supply ; but 
Si his e4t"ons could not raise a sufficient force to breakthrough 
Se line of blockade. In this desperate extremity they-esolve^^ 
to have recourse to that expedient which tliey kept in "serve 
until it should be dear that no other ^^f l«^'-*^^y,7S 
break their dykes, open their sluices, inundate the whole level 
country rouna Levden, and wash the Spaniards and their circle 
of forts utterly away. It was truly a desperate resource ; and it 
wal only ^ Ihe last extremity tUthey could brinp; themselves 
to think of it. All that vast tract of fertile land, whicn tne 
labour of a-e had drained and cultivated-to see it converted 
„ toashee^of water! there could not Pf sibly be a sight more 
unseemly and melancholy to a Dutchman's eyes. The damam, 
ii was calculated, would amount to 600,000 gilders. But when 
tlr destruction of the dykes round Leyden was once resolved 
upon they set to work with a heartiness and a zeal greater than 
Xwh'fh had attended their building. Hatchets, hammers 
spades, and pickaxes, were in requisition ; and by the If our of a 
sfn-le'niirht, the labour of ages was demolished and undone 
Thiwate?, availing itself of the new outlets, poured over the flat 
country and in a°short time the whole of the region situa ed 
betwl™ l"yden and Rotterdam w.as flooded to a considerable 
depTh The- Spaniards, terror-stricken at first bethought them- 
eehes of the Ate of the antediluvians; but at last, seem- that 
t^e water did not rise above a certain level, they recovereS th ir 
courage, and though obliged to abandon those of their^foits 



WILLIAM OF ORANGE AND THE NETHERLANDS. 

jvliich were Stationed in the low grounds, thev persevered in the 
blockade. But there was another purpose to be sei-ved by the 
inundation of the country besides that of washino- away the 
Spaniards, and the Prince of Orano-e was makino- preparations 
for effecting it He had caused about 200 lar-e flat-bottomed 
boats to be built, and loaded with provisions : these now beo-an 
to row towards the famished city. The inhabitants saw them 
coming- ; they watched them eagerly advancing across the waters, 
lightmg their way past the Spanish forts, and brino-ino. bread to 
them. But it almost seemed as if Heaven itself^ ha^d become 
cruel ; tor a north wind was blowing, and so Ions; as it continued 
to blow, the waters would not be deep enou^•h to^enable the boats 
to reach the city. They waited for davs, every eve tived on the 
vanes ; but still the wind blew from the north, althouo-h never 
almost withm the memory of the oldest citizen had there been such 
a continuance of north wind at that season of the year jMany 
died m sight of the vessels which contained the foodVhich woufd 
have kept them alive ; and those who still surWved shuffled alono- 
the streets more like skeletons than men. In two davs these 
would to a certainty have been all dead too : when, lo ! the vanes 
trembled and veered round ; the wind shifted first to the north- 
west, blowing the sea tides with hurricane force into the mouths 
ot the rivers; and then to the south, dri^-iu": the waves exactly in 
the direction of the city. The remaining torts of the Spaniards 
were quickly begirt with water. The Spaniards themselves, pur- 
sued by the Zealanders in their boats, were either drowned or 
snot swimming, or fished out with hooks fastened to the end of 
poles, and kiUed with the sword. Several bodies of them how- 
ever, effected their escape. The citizens had all crowded to the 
gates to meet their deliverers. With bread in their hands, thev 
ran through the streets ; and many who had outlived the famine 
died of surfeit._ That same day they met in one of the churches 
—a lean and sickly congregation— with the magistrates at theiy 
head, to return thanks to Almighty God for his mercy. 

The siege of Leyden was raised on the 3d of October 1574 • 
and the anniversary of that day is still celebrated by the citizens! 
It is the most memorable day in the history of Leyden ; and* 
many memorials exist to keep the inhabitants in remembrance 
of the event which happened on it. Usually, the object which 
first excites the curiosity of the traveller who visits Leyden is 
the Stadthouse, or Hotel de Yille, which occupies a conspicuous 
situation on one of the sides of the Breed Straat, or Broad 
Street. The date of the erection of the building, 1574, is carved 
on the front, along with the arms of the town^ two cross-keys, 
and several inscriptions referring to the sufferings of the place 
dunng the period of its besiegement. The walls of the vene- 
rable apartment in which the burgomasters assemble are of dark 
panelled wood, partly hung with beautiful old tapestry, and 
ornamented with several paintings. One picture of modern 



"WILLIAM OF ORANGE AND THE NETHERLANDS. 

date, by Van Bree of Antwerp, is of a size so large as almost to 
cover one side of the room, and represents the streets of Leyden 
tilled with its famishino- inhabitants, in the midst of whom stands 
prominently forward the iig'iire of the burg'omaster, Peter Van 
der "NVerf, offering- his body to be eaten. The small cut at the 
head of the present paper is expressive of this affecting" scene. 
Another memorial of the siege of Leyden by the Spaniards is 
the university of that city, so celebrated for the number of great 
historical names connected with it. " The Prince of Orange, as 
a recompense to the inhabitants of Leyden for their heroic 
conduct, gave them the choice of exemption from taxes for a 
certain number of years, or of having a university established 
in the city ; and, much to their honour, they preferred the 
latter. The university of Leyden was accordingly established 
in 1575." 

The fortunate issue of the siege of Leyden changed the face of 
affairs. Philip consented to hold a conference with the patriots 
at Breda. Concessions were made on both sides, with a view 
of coming to an agreement ; but on the question of the conduct 
which the government ought to pursue with reference to reli- 
gion, the two parties were completely at variance. " The here- 
tics must be expelled from the maritime provinces," was the 
demand of the Spanish deputies. " If you expel the heretics, 
as you call them," said the deputies of the patriots, ^' you will 
expel more than two-thirds of the inhabitants, and if you do 
so, there will not be enough of men to mend the dykes." " The 
king," replied the Spaniards, " would rather lose the provinces 
than have them peopled with heretics." The conference accord- 
ingly broke up, without having accomplished anything. 

Again armies began their marchings and oountermarchings 
through the country. Requesens had succeeded in an attempt 
M-hich he expected to be of great assistance to him in his design 
of reducing Zealand, and he was endeavouring to follow up this 
advantage by laying siege to the town of Zuricsee, when he was 
seized with a fever, and died after a few days' illness. 

PATRIOTIC MEASURES OF THE PRINCE OF ORANGE. 

On the death of Requesens, the Council of State, consisting at 
that time of nine members, among whom were Viglius and Bar- 
laimont, as well as some others less devoted to the Spanish cause, 
assumed the government, there being no person on the spot 
authorised by Philip to take upon himself the office of reo-ent. 
Under the rule of this committee the greatest confusion pre- 
vailed ; but at length the liberal members of the Council of 
State took courage, and issued an order fur a convention of the 
states; and at this convention, which was opened on the 14th 
of September 157G, it was agreed to hold a solemn congress 
of representatives frum the various provinces, in the town-house 
of Ghent, on the 10th of October. 

21 



WILLIAM OF ORANGE AND THE NETHERLANDS. 

This remarkable turn of affairs was brouo-ht about in a s-reat 
measure by the exertions of the Prince of Orange The^waJ 
had now lasted nearly ten years. The result was, that the seven- 
teen provinces constitutni- the Netherlands, which on Philip^- 
accession had acknowledged his sway, were now broken up into 
two groups, the maritime provinces constituting one group^ and 
the mland provinces another. In the maritimeVoup" of which 
Holland and Zealand were the most important meinbers the 
SrbTl'^ the mhabitants were Protestants, and onsequ^^^^^^^ 
^ley had mamtamed a more determined attitude durin- the 

TisoLed Ph-1-" ^'"^'"'^ '^'^'':^^' '^'y ^^^ ^^-t foi^many 
disowned Philip's sovereignty, they were really governino. ' 

themselves under the administration of the Prince^ of Orare" 

hi the inland group the state of matters was very different' 

The majority of the inhabitants of this group were CathoHcs 

and consequently their opposition to SpanL7 vranny had 

been less vigorous and less enthusiastic. But William wis not 

content with seeing only one part of the Netherlands dlwed 

liom Spamsh tyranny, even if it had been possible to deliver the 

maiitime provmces without convulsing and agitating the others 

with Snat oTr '? ^' ^,f °^^Pl!«h^d by a judicious compromise 
^ tn bpam, or by formally casting off all allegiance to Spain 
whatever, and mntmg the various provinces into^ new indepen^ 
dent European state. It was in consequence, therefore o/Ss 
public recommendations to the CouncH of State, and Ms secret 

h ldTndX\"^''"'^'i^?"' '^'' '^' States-General had been 
held, and the congress of Ghent agreed upon. 

rP-^nU JZ-f'?^-^^'''* ^^"""^^-^ "^^^^^^ *^^ congress published the 
re.ult of Its deliberations m the shape of a treaty of confederacy 
between the maritime and the inland provinces^ This ti4tyl 
kno^vn m history by the name of the Paci/icatmi of Ghent ll 
consisted of twenty-five articles, and its priiicipal provi^ons were 
that the maritime provinces, with the Prince of Orange on the 
one liand, and the nland or Catholic provinces on the other 

Kr'r^^^ ^''''' T^ ''^'' ^^ ^^P^"^-§' t^^ Spaniard^: 
i^LlpV tT^n^'^'l?'-' f V'''^*^^^' ^^^^'^^^ «^ ^^^^ Should be 
st^l pi .'• ^^^V'V^l"'^''^,P'°™'^' ^^^ Catholic religion should 
la dTl ."'"^f *^^'^^'•^^^^^^ ^''^ *^^*^^ Holland and Zea- 

s?and .A^^^^^^^^ l^^'.' ? arrangements should be permitted to 
states. ^^^:5^^^^^^d be revised by a future assembly of the 

^!^ ^¥ ""^''J^^^^^^t when the Netherlands were beo-innino- to 
ari?veVa t" ^''^'' T ^"^^ J^"°^ '^' pacification of Ghent ?here . 
lu fH^ VZ 'T''*' Tn.^'T ^P'^^^- Tills was Don John of J 
dvf and r.^?-.r^ son of Charles V., a man of great talent, both * 
rL-li V T.'^^V^''^/^ ^'^ exceedingly amiable and winning 

disposition. By the advice of the Priifce of Orange, the Council i 
lesolved to conclude a strict bargain with the new regent before 



WILLIAM OF ORANGE AND THE NETHERLANDS. 

i admitting him to the government. A meeting of noblemen, 
ecclesiasfics, and other influential persons was held at Brussels 
on the 9th of January 1577, at which a compact ni support ot 
the late resolutions at Ghent was formed, known by the name of 
the Union of Brussels ; and a copy of the deed of umon havm- 
been transmitted to Don John, the result was a conference 
between him and certain deputies appomted by the states. At 
this conference, which was held in a city ot Luxemburg, a 
treaty was agreed upon, dated the 12th of February 15//, and 
known by tlfe name of the Perpetual Edict. It secured for the 
inland provinces all that they had been so earnestly contending 
for all that the Pacification of Ghent bound them to demand— 
the' removal of the Spanish troops, the release of prisoners, and 
a mild and considerate government. The Protestant proymces 
of Holland and Zealand, however, were dissatisfied with it, and 

refused their concurrence. . . ^ . ^^a . 

It appeared now as if the long struggle had come to an end, 
as if Spain and the Netherlands had finally compromised their 
diifereiices When Don John made his entry into Brussels on 
the 1st of May 1577, the citizens congratulated themselves^ on 
the '^kiU with which they had managed to limit his authority, 
and said to each other, " Ah, it Avill cost our new regent some 
trouble to play his game as Alva did." , . „ 

No sooner, however, had John taken the rems of government 
in his hands, than he began to free himself from all the restraints 
which the inland provinces thought they had imposed on liim. 
Eesolved to recover all the prerogatives he had parted with, he 
despatched letters written in cipher to Philip, urging him to send 
back the Spanish and Italian forces into the Netherlands; and 
makinc a journey from Brussels to the frontier province of Namur, 
he took possession of the capital of the province, intending to 
wait there till the troops should arrive. The letters were inter- 
cepted by the king of Navarre, and being immediately sent to the 
Prince of Orange, were by him made public. Enraged at the 
discovery of the regent's treachery, the authorities ot the inland 
provinces now determined to cast him off; and at the same time 
thev intreated the Prince of Orange to come to Brussels and 
assume the administration of affairs. Accordingly, leavin- his 
own faithful maritime provinces, the prince sailed up the Scheldt, 
and thence made his passage by canal to Brussels, amid the 
cheers of the multitudes who stood lining the banks for miles, 
anxious to obtain a sight of " Vader Willem" commg to do for 
them what he had already done for the Hollanders and Zea- 
landers. He entered Brussels on the 23d of September, and 
was immediately invested with the office of governor of Brabant, 
a title which o-ave him as much power as if he had been a regent 
appointed by Philip himself. The whole of the Netheriands now, 
except the two frontier provinces of Luxemburg and Namur, 
where Don John still maintained his influence, were under the 

23 



WILLIAM OF ORANGE AND THE NETHERLANDS. 

government of William of Orange. His darling* scheme of unit- 
ing the maritime and the inland provinces under one sj'^stem of 
government, extending to both the blessings of perfect civil free- 
dom, and allowing each group to establish that form of worship 
which was most conformable to its own wishes — the maritime 
group the Protestant, and the inland group the Catholic form — 
while yet neither the Catholics should be persecuted in the one, 
nor the Protestants in the other — this scheme was now all but 
realised. With respect to the question, how Philip's rights as the 
sovereign of the Netherlands should be dealt with, this was a 
point about which, in the meantime, it was unnecessary to give 
himself much trouble. It would be decided afterwards by the 
course of erents. 

This happy aspect of things was not of long duration. William 
had hardly entered on his office, when he began to be harassed 
by those petty insect annoyances which always buzz and flutter 
round greatness, making* the life of a man who pursues a career 
of active well-doing on a large scale very far from a pleasant one 
to himself. At length a powerful cabal was formed against him 
by certain Catholic noblemen ; and, without the consent of the 
states, or any other legitimate authority, the Archduke Mathias, 
brother of the emperor of Germany, was invited to come and 
assume the government of the southern provinces of tlie Nether- 
lands. The arrival of this self-announced governor was a decided 
surprise to the states ; but the quick eye of the Prince of Orange 
saw that it might be turned to advantage. By inviting Mathias 
to assume the office which Don John considered to be his, the 
Catholic nobles had given an unpardonable offence to Philip ; 
and if Mathias did assume the government, it would set the 
Spanish king and the German emperor at variance ; both of 
which events were exceedingly desirable as matters then stood. 
William therefore was the lirst to recommend his own resigna- 
tion, and the appointment of Mathias as governor instead; a 
change which would do no harm, as Mathias was a silly young 
man whom it would be very easy to manage. On the 18th of 
January 1578, Mathias therefore was formally installed as go- 
vernor-general, with the Prince of Orange as his lieutenant in 
every department ; and Don John was at the same time declared 
a public enemy. 

Meanwhile Philip had sent a powerful army to reinstate Don 
John. At the head of this army was Alexander Farnese, Prince 
of Parma, the son of that Duchess of Parma who had been 
regent before Alva, and though yet young, reputed to be the 
first mihtary genius of the age. Pusliing into the interior of 
the Netherlands with this army, Don John speedily reconquered 
a large tract of the country ; and the states, defeated in several 
engagements, were obliged to intreat assistance from foreign 
powers. After several months of war, they were delivered from 
»,11 fear of having the treacherous John restored to the regency ; 

S4 



I 



WILLIAM OF ORANGE AND THE NETHERLANDS. 

for, on the 1st of October 1578, he died suddenly at Boujry. 
But if delivered of one enemy in Jolni, they had to contend with 
another in all respects more formidable in his successor, the 
matchless Prince of Parma. The prospect of a carapaig-n agamst 
a man so eminent in the art of war completely disheartened 
them ; and any chance thev might have had of being able to repel 
the invasion which he conducted, was intinitely lessened by the 
outbreak of violent dissensions in the southern provinces, espe- 
cially between the Flemings, or inhabitants of Flanders, and the 
AValloons, or inhabitants of the south-eastern provinces. 

UNION OF THE SEVEN PROVINCES. 

In these circumstances, the Prince of Orange thought it best 
to take precautions for securing the independence of at least a 
part of the ^>therlallds. It had long- appeared to William that 
the next best thing to a union of all the provinces of the Nether- 
lands under a free government, would be the union of the mari- 
time provinces by themselves under such a government. These 
provinces would "'form a distinct state, thoroughly Dutch and 
thorouii-hly Protestant; and the difficulty of governing: them 
separately would be far less than that of governing- them m con- 
junction with the southern or Walloon provinces, whose in- 
habitants were not only Catholic, but half French in their 
lineaire and their habits. The progress which the Prince of 
Parnia was now making*, not only in conquering-, but in con- 
ciliating the Walloons, decided William to carry into effect his 
lonir-ch'erished idea, and to attempt a formal separation between 
the^northern provinces and the rest of the Netherlands. His 
efforts succeeded; and on the SQth of January, there was so- 
lemnly sic-ned at Utrecht a treaty of union betw^een the five 
provinces of Holland, Zealand, Guelderland, Utrecht, and Fries- 
Innd, by which they foi-med themselves into an independent re- 
public. Thus was a new European state founded, which, bem^ 
joined afterwards by the two provinces of Overyssel and Gro- 
nino-en, and reco2:nised by the foreign powers, obtained the 
name of The Seven United Provinces^ and subsequently of Hol- 
land. , ,,r-lT 1 

But while labouring to effect this great object, William by 
no means ceased to struggle fur another which he considered 
greater still, the independence of the whole Netherlands. If a 
community of religion, and the enthusiastic attachment of the 
people to his person, endeared the northern provinces to him in a 
peculiar manner, the breadth of his intellect, and his general love 
of liberty, made him take a deep interest in the fate of the 
southern*' provinces ; and gladly would he devote his best exer- 
tions to secure for the Flemings and the Walloons of the south 
that independence which he 'had to all appearance secured for 
the Dutch of the north. Accordingly, both before and after 
the union of the northern provinces," he continued to act ua 

25 



WILLIAM OF ORANGE AND THE NETHERLANDS. 

lieutenant-g'overnor under Mathias, and to superintend the ad- 
ministration of the southern provinces. 

Meanwhile an attempt was made by the pope and the emperor 
of Germany to bring: about a reconciliation between Spain and 
the Netherlands. But Philip's big-otry^ again interposed a 
barrier in the way of an agreement ; for he declared, that what- 
ever other concessions he might be willing to make, he never 
would be at peace with heresy. While these negotiations were 
pending, the Prince of Parma had slackened his military acti- 
vity ; but when the congress broke up its sittings in the end of 
1579, he recommenced his campaign in the southern provinces 
with fresh ardour. 

It was evident, however, to the Prince of Orange, that the 
issue of the. struggle could not be decided by one or two battles 
with the Prince of Parma. His aim all along had been to thwart 
Philip by engaging some of the principal European powers on 
the side of the Netherlands. No sooner, therefore, had he seen 
the Protestant provinces of the north united by the treaty of 
Utrecht, than he began to mature another scheme by which he 
hoped to obtain for the union greater strength within itself, and 
greater estimation in the eyes of foreign nations. This was no 
other than the formal deposition of Philip from the sovereignty 
of the Netherlands, and the election of a new sovereign capable 
of bringing into the field all the power of some foreig'n nation to 
counterpoise that of Spain. He hesitated for some time whether 
the future sovereign of the Netherlands should be Queen Eliza- 
beth of England, or the Duke of Anjou, brother to the French 
king; but at last decided in favour of the latter. Having 
finally weighed his scheme, and resolved to adopt it, he procured 
a meeting* of the States-General at Antwerp ; and there Philip 
was deposed as " a t3a'ant ; " the Netherlands were declared a free 
and independent state ; and the Duke of Anjou having become 
bound to use the power of France to expel the Spaniards from 
his new dominion, entered on the exercise of the sovereignty. 
At the same time, William of Orang'e was installed in the 
government of Holland, Zealand,- and Friesland, under the title 
of Stadtholder, and with the reservation of the right of homage 
to the Duke of Anjou. 

These arrangements were concluded in 1581 and 1582; and 
for two years after, the history of the struggle is but an uninte- 
resting record of sieges and engagements, important at the time, 
but too numerous to be detailed in a narrative. We hasten to 
the concluding act of the drama. 

ASSASSINATION OF THE PRINCE OF ORANGE. 

Philip, surrounded by the haughty ceremonial of a Spanish 
court, kept his dark and evil eje ever rolling towards the Nether- 
lands. Foiled, defeated, gaining an advantage only to lose it 
again, he had watched the course of the struggle with a bitter 

26 



"WILLIAM OF ORANGE AND THE NETHERLANDS. 

earnestness. A scowl passed over his brow at every recollection 
of the manner in which his lieretical subjects had resisted his 
authority and baffled his purposes. But the last indig-nity was 
worst of all. To be openly deposed in the face of all Europe, to 
be rejected and cast oft' by a portion of his subjects inhabiting' a 
little corner of his vast dominions, to have another sovereign 
elected in his stead ; this was an insult such as monarch had 
never experienced before. And all this had been done by that 
one man, William of Orange. In the course of his life he had 
already been thwarted, or supposed himself to be thwarted, by 
one personal enemy after another ; and these, if history be true, 
he had successively disposed of, by sending them prematurely 
out of the world. The poisoned cup, or the dagger of the hired 
assassin, had rid him of several blood relations whom he con- 
ceived to be his enemies. Ilis ow2i son, his eldest born, had 
died by his orders ; and now he resolved to rid himself by similar 
means of the man who had robbed him of the Netherlands. 
Early in 1580 he issued a proclamation offering* a reward of 
25,000 golden crowns, with a j^atent of nobility, and a pardon 
for all past offences, to any one who should assassinate the 
Prince of Orange. In reply to this brutal proclamation the 
prince published a defence of his own conduct, ■which, under 
the name of " The Apology," has been always admired as one 
of the noblest refutations ever jDenned. It is believed to have 
been the composition of a Protestant clergyman, a friend of the 
prince. 

For some time no effects followed the issuing of Philip's pro- 
clamation, and William was quietly engaged in consolidating the 
government under the Duke of Anjou. He had gone to Antwerp 
to attend the ceremony of the new sovereign's inauguration, and 
was to stay there some time, until everything was fairly settled. 
On the 18th of March 1582, he gave a great dinner at the castle 
of the town to celebrate the duke's birthday. Leaving the hall 
to ascend to his own chamber, he was met at the door by a silly 
melancholy-looking young man, who desired to present a peti- 
tion. While he was looking at the paper, the young* man tired 
a pistol at his head. The ball entered below the right ear, and 
passing through his mouth, came out at the other side. The 
prince fell apparently dead, and the assassin was instantly put to 
death by the attendants. It appeared, from papers found on his 
person, that he was a Spaniard named John Jaureguay, clerk to 
Caspar Anastro, a Spanish merchant in the town. Anastro had 
engaged to Philip, for a reward of 28,000 ducats, to effect the 
object which the proclamation had not been able to accomplish; 
but, unwilling to undertake the assassination in person, he had 
fixed upon his melancholy half-crazed clerk as his deputy; and 
the poor wretch had been persuaded ))y a Dominican monk of the 
name of Timmerman, that the death he was sure to die in the 
performance of so glorious an act of duty would be an immediate 

27 



WILLIAM OF ORANGE AND THE NETHERLANDS. 

entrance into paradise. Timmerman, and Venero, Anastro's 
cashier, who was also implicated in the murder, were seized and 
executed ; but Anastro himself escaped. It was long feared that 
the wound was mortal ; but it proved not to be so ; and in a short 
time the prince was again able to resume his duties, dearer now 
than ever to the people of the Netherlands. He had scarcely 
recovered, when he was summoned to act in a new crisis. The 
Duke of Anjou began to act falsely towards his subjects. Fail- 
ing in a treacherous attempt to seize the town of Antwerp, 
Anjou was obliged to become a fugitive from his own kingdom. 
Perplexed and uncertain how to act, the states again had re- 
course to the counsel of the Prince of Orange ; and after much 
hesitation, he gave it as his deliberate opinion, that, upon the 
whole, in the present state of matters, nothing was so advisable as 
to readmit the duke to the sovereignty, after binding him by new 
and more stringent obligations. In giving this advice, William 
spoke from his intimate knowledge of the state of Europe. 
The reasons, however, which actuated the Prince of Orange 
in advising the recall of Anjou, although very satisfactory to 
men experienced in statecraft, and gifted with the same political 
insight as himself, were too subtle to be appreciated by the 
popular understanding ; and it began to be murmured by the 
gossips of Antwerp that the Prince of Orange had gone over to 
the French interest, and was conspiring to annex the Nether- 
lands to France. Hurt at these suspicions, which impeded his 
measures, and rendered his exertions fruitless, William left 
Antwerp, and withdrew to his own northern provinces, where 
the people would as soon have burnt the ships in their harbours 
as suspected the good faith of their beloved stadtholder " Vader 
Willem." By removing into the north, however, William did 
not mean to cease taking any part in the affairs of the southern 
provinces. He continued to act by letters and messengers, 
allaying various dissensions among the nobility, and smooth- 
ing the waj^ for the return of the Duke of Anjou, who was then 
residing in France. But it was destined that the treacherous 
Frenchman should never again set his foot within the Nether- 
lands. Taken suddenly ill at the Chateau-Thierry, he died there 
on the 10th of June 1584, aged thirty years. 

Again were the Netherlands thrown into a state of anarchy 
and confusion. The northern provinces alone, under the govern- 
ment of William, enjoyed internal tranquillity and freedom from 
war. The southern provinces were torn by religious dissension ; 
while, to aggravate the evil, the Prince of Parma was conducting 
military operations within the territory. And now that the 
sovereign they had elected was dead, what should be done? 
^VTio should be elected next? Rendered wise and unanimous 
by their adversity, the secret wishes of all turned to William ; 
and negotiations were set on foot for electing William, Prince of 
Orange, and stadtholder of the northern provinces, to the con- 

28 



WILLIAM OF ORANGE AND THE NETHERLANDS. 

stitutional sovereignity of the Netherlands. He was to accept 
the crown on nearly the same terms as he had himself proposed 
in the case of the Duke of Anjou. 

These hopes were doomed to be disappointed. AYilliam had 
gone to Delft, and was there eng-ag-ed in business, preparatory to 
his accession to the sovereig'nty. On the 10th of July, having 
left his dining-room in the palace, he had just placed his foot on. 
the first step of the staircase leading- to the upper part of the house, 
when a pale man with a cloak, who had come on pretence of get- 
ting a passport, pointed a horse-pistol at his breast and fired. 
The prince fell. *' God have mercy on me and on this poor 
people," were the only words he was able to utter ; and in a few 
moments he was dead; his wife, Louisa de Coligni, whose father 
and first husband had also been murdered, bending over him. 
The assassin was seized, attempting to escape. His name was 
Balthasar Gerard, a native of Burgundy. Like Jaureguay, he 
had been actuated to the crime by the hopes of fame on earth 
and glory in heaven. Documents also exist which show that he 
was an instrument of the Spanish authorities, and had communi- 
cated his design to several Spanish monks. He suffered death in 
the most horrible form which detestation for his crime could de- 
vise; his right hand being first burnt oft', and the flesh being 
then torn from his bones with red-hot pincers. He died with the 
composure of a martyr. 

The Prince of Orange was fifty-two years of age at the time 
of his murder. He had been four times married, and left ten 
children, three sons and seven daughters. 

CONCLUDING HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS. 

The death of the Prince of Orange left the Netherlands divided 
into two parts — the northern or Protestant provinces, united in a 
confederacy, and to all intents and purposes independent of 
Spain ; and the southern or Catholic provinces, either subject to 
Spain, or only struggling for independence. The subsequent 
histories of these two portions of the Netherlands are different. 

Holland^ as the seven united provinces of Holland, Zealand, 
"Utrecht, Guelderland, Friesland, Overyssel, and Groningen came 
to be called, successfully resisted all the attempts of Spain to re- 
subjugate it. Prince Maurice inherited his father's abilities and 
his honours, and for many years he conducted the war in which 
the determination of Spain to recover its territory involved the 
provinces. On his death, in 162o, he was succeeded in the govern- 
ment by his youngest brother, Frederic Henry ; and before his 
death, in 1G47, the existence of Holland as an independent 
European state was recognised by almost every foreign cabinet, 
and Spain saw that it was in vain to continue the war. His son 
William II. died, after a short and turbulent reign, in ICoO, leav- 
ing a widow, who, within a week of her husband's death, gave 
birth to a son, William III. 

S9 



WILLIAM OF ORANGE AND THE NETHERLANDS. 

On the abdication of James II. of Eng-land, this William III,, 
the great-grandson of the hero of the Netherlands, came from 
Holland to ascend the throne of Great Britain, in conjunction 
with his wife Maiy, James's daughter. During his reig-n, Great 
Britain and Holland were under one rule ; but when he died child- 
less in 1701, the States-General of the Seven Provinces, instead 
of appointing' a new stadtholder, took the government into their 
own hands. The title of Prince of Orange, however, did not 
become extinct ; it was inherited hj his cousin, Prison of Nassau, 
who was governor of the single province of Friesland. The acti- 
vity and energy of this new Prince of Orange and of his son soon 
gave them an ascendancy in all the provinces ; and in 1747, in 
the person of the latter, the House of Orange again acceded to 
the dignity of the stadtholderate of the United Provinces. At 
the close of the last century, Holland suffered from the invasion 
of the French^ and was for some time in their hands ; but finally, 
in 1813, the Prince of Orange was restored to power; being 
admitted to the government as a sovereig'n prince. 

Having thus traced the history of the northern provinces of 
the Netherlands down to 1815, let ns trace that of the southern 
ones dow^n to the same year. 

After the death of William of Orange, the Prince of Parma 
continued his victorious career in the southern 23ro"vances ; and if 
he did not altogether crush the spirit of patriotism, he at least 
rendered it weak and powerless. Although, therefore. Prince 
Maurice and Prince Frederic Henry, w^hile repelling the attempts 
of the Spaniards to reconquer Holland, endeavoured also to drive 
them out of the rest of the Netherlands, they were never able 
fully to effect this, and Spain still kept possession of all the 
southern provinces. In 1713, Philip III. of Spain gave these 
southern provinces as a marriage portion to his daughter Isabella 
when she espoused Albert, Ai'chduke of Austria ; and from that 
time they ceased to be called the Spanish provinces, and obtained 
the name of the Belgian provinces, or of the Austrian Nether- 
lands. This arrangement lasted till 1795, when it w'as swept 
away by the French Eevolution. After a struggle between 
France and Austria, the Austrian Netherlands and the province 
of Liege were divided into nine departments, forming an integral 
part of the French republic ; and they continued to be so till the 
jail of Napoleon in 1815. 

At this great epoch, w^hen Europe, recovering from the shock 
of the French Revolution, had leisure to arrange its various 
territories according to its own pleasure, separating some countries 
which had been long joined, and joining others which had been 
long separated, it was determined once more to unite Holland 
and the Belgian provinces into one state. Accordingly, in 1815, 
the Prince of Orange had the southern provinces added to his 
dominions, and was recognised by the various powers of Europe 
as king of the whole Netherlands. In 1579 the country had 

30 



"WILLIAM OF ORANGE AND THE NETHERLANDS. 

been broken np into two parts ; and now, in 1815, they were re- 
united, with no chance, so far as appearances went, of ever being* 
separated ag-ain. But appearances were fallacious. As we have 
already informed our readers, there had always been certain 
marked ditlerences of lineag-e, religion, lang-uag-e, and habits, 
between the people of the northern and those of the southern pro- 
vinces of the Netherlands. In 1830, when the second French 
revolution took place, the Belg'ians revolted from their alleg-iance, 
and insisted on being separated from Holland, and erected into an 
independent kingdom. The demand was, after some delay, com- 
plied with by foreign powers. On the 15th of November 1831 
the boundary-line was fixed, and the Netherlands were divided 
into the two independent states of Holland and Belgium. The 
crown of the latter was accepted by Leopold of Saxe-Cobourg, 
now sovereign of the country. 

The modern kingdom of Holland consists of the following ten 
provinces: — North Holland, South Holland, Zealand, North 
Brabant, Guelderland, Utrecht, Friesland, Overyssel, Groningen, 
and Drenthe ; its capital is the Hague. The j^opulation on the 
1st of January 1839 amounted to 2,583,271. The prevailing 
form of worship is the Calvinistic ; but all other forms enjoy 
perfect toleration. Holland is celebrated for its excellent educa- 
tional institutions, Avhich are on a liberal footing', and acceptable 
to all sects and classes. 

The kingdom of Belgium consists of nine provinces — Limbourg, 
Liege, Namur, Luxemburg, Hainault, South Brabant, East 
Flanders, West Flanders, Antwerp ; its capital is Brussels. The 
population of Belgium in 1830 was 4,064,235. The Belgians 
are almost altogether Roman Catholics. The ancient Teutonic 
language, which has taken the form of Dutch in Holland, has 
degenerated into Flemish in Belgium ; besides which, there is 
the language called Walloon, a species of old French ming-led 
with German, and spoken principallj'- in Hainault, on the borders 
of France. Nevertheless, modern French may be described as 
the ])redominating language of Belg-ium. 

We have now shown how the Netherlands effected their inde- 
pendence ; how the country became divided into the two modern 
kingdoms of Holland and Belgium ; and it only remains for us 
to say that, successful as were the struggles of the people against 
oppression, the Netherlands, taken as a whole, have not till this 
hour attained the opulence and prosperity of which they were 
deprived by the iniquitous aggressions of Philip II. in the six- 
teenth century. In travelling through the country, we everj--- 
where see symptoms of fallen grandeur. Antwerp, once the 
most opulent mercantile city in Europe, is now in a state of de- 
cay ; while Louvain, IMechlin, Utrecht, Leyden, Dort, Delft, all 
exhibit similar tokens of desertion. To " the Spaniards " is every- 
where ascribed the ruin of trade, the destruction of works of art, 
and the distresses to which the country has been exposed. Such 

31 



WILLIAM OF ORANGE AXD THE NETHERLANDS. 

are the results of the unhappy war which scourg-ed the Nether- 
lands in the sixteenth century. Although advancing* by new 
efforts towards its former condition, three centuries have not obli- 
terated the traces of this fearful struggle for civil and religious 
freedom. Considering the services performed by William of 
Orange in this great effort, no one can look without emotion on 
the splendid monument erected over his tomb in the New Church 
of Delft, of which we append a representation. It is a lofty 
structure of marble, embellished with many figures, one of which 
is that of the prince, in bronze, sitting with his truncheon of 
office, and his helmet at his feet ; while behind is a figure of 
Fame sounding with her trumpet the praises of the hero. 



1 





PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 

A TALE, FROM THE FRENCH. 




I. 

OULD 3'ou like me to do anj^tliing" for you, dear 
mother? said Lizette, a sweet-tempered girl, to her 
.mother, who was lying" to all appearance on her 
deathbed, in a cottage in the environs of Marseilles. 
'" Would you like me to raise your head a little 1 I am 
I sure you would — now, I think you will be more comfort- 
able. I am glad I thought of that." 

" Lizette," said the dying woman, with some degree of 
effort, "you kill me with kindness — you are far too good to 
me." 

" Kindness ! — do not speak of such a thing. It is my duty to 
b« kind and attentive to my poor dear mother. You know I 
would do anything I could think of for you, and it would be 
all little enough. Do try to compose yourself, dear mother. 
Perhaps you may yet get well." 

" Never," answered Dame Margaret ; " I know I have not 
long to live, and yet I cannot die. Had you been less dutiful, 
less kind, it would have been easier for me now. I could have 
endured your want of affection, but your goodness overcomes 
me. Oh, what a dreadful thins: it is to receive kindness from 
those you have wronged ! " And here the poor woman stopped, 
as if convulsed with some strong emotion. 
Lizette exhausted every persuasive to compose the agony of 



PASSION AND PKINCIPLE. 

the sufferer, whom she imag-ined was becoming delirious ; but all- 
was in vain. 

" Dear, dear mother," said she tenderly, her large black eyes 
filling with tears, as she fixed them on the agitated countenance 
of the dying woman ; " do not speak thus. You have never done 
me any wrong ; you have always been the best of mothers." 

" Do not call me mother; I am not your mother." 

" I fear you are suffering a great deal," said Lizette, not heed- 
ing her strange observation. 

'^ Oh, yes," answered Dame Margaret, who was perceptibly 
getting weaker ; " I am dying, and cannot appear before God 
with such a heavy sin upon my conscience, Lizette." 

" If it is a sin, dear mother, you ought to tell it to the cure, 
and not to me : he will console you. Would you like me to go 
and call him ?" 

" Go, my child ; but come back quickly : I feel I am very ill." 

When Lizette returned, accompanied by the pastor, they both 
observed terror in every feature of the dying woman. Lizette 
fell on her knees at the foot of her mother's bed, and poured out 
her full heart in prayer. 

" Well, Dame Margaret," said the pastor, seating himself on a 
stool, and taking the hand of the poor woman, as if to feel her 
pulse, " you are ill ; but I trust you are at peace with God V 

" No, sir, no," replied the woman ; " there is no peace for me : 
I have wronged that innocent child. Oh, Lizette, Lizette," added 
she, turning to the young girl, " promise not to curse me." 

** Dearest mother," said Lizette caressingly. 

" Hush, hush. For pity's sake do not call me mother : it kills 
me." And Dame Margaret, then raising herself in the bed, 
clasped her hands, and with an effort for which she seemed 
obliged to collect all her remaining strength — "I am verily 
guilty, sir. I am not the mother of that child. Lizette, I am 
not your mother ;" and, as if she had but been given strength for 
this avowal, she fell back in utter exhaustion. 

" Explain yourself, and hope still in God," said the pastor, as 
he bent over the couch ; whilst Lizette's anxious gaze seemed to 
inquire the meaning of these mysterious words. 

Dame Margaret, after a few moments, recovered sufficiently to 
answer — " Sixteen years ago I lost my husband, just as I became 
the mother of a little girl ; and I was soon after hired as nurse to 
the daughter of the Baroness de Pons, who then resided in Mar- 
seilles. Three weeks had hardly gone by when the child fell 
sick, and so sick that I thought she was going to die. I was a 
poor widow. If I lost the nursing, I must lose the money that I 
intended to lay out in purchasing a bit of ground near my house, 
which would set me above want for the rest of my days." Here 
the dying woman paused, either to collect strength or to delay a 
painful confession. The cure pressed her hand, as if to encourage 
her. " Alas ! your reverence," she resumed, in broken accents; 

2 



PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 



"one mornini- that my poor nui'sling was yinf as if she were 
dead, a line coach stopped at my door, and the Baroness de Pons 
alio-hted from it, lookino: very happy, and crymg, My child 
nw Clotilda. Quick, Dame Mar-aret; brin- me my child. 
Well sir, what can I say for myself? My heart failed me I had 
not Joiirao-e to c^rieve that beautiful young mother, who had come 
in her \oy. Besides, my evil g'enius kept whispering to me to 
keep the bit of ground. I took my own child, my little Lizette 
—she was thought like my nursling— and without saying a word 
—it would have stuck in my throat— I put her mto the ai-ms oi 
Madame de Pons." 

Lizette was listening with breathless attention, at times invo- 
luntarily articulating the words that fell from the lips ot the 
dving woman. ,, ^ . ,, 

" Findino- her strength failina-, Dame Margaret went on quickly. 
« Madame de Pons covered the child with kisses. ' How pretty 
she is ! ' said she, with all a mother's pride. ' She is like a child 
of four months old, and she only six weeks! How delighted 
Albert will be to see her so rosy, so healthy ! But all on a 
sudden— then indeed I trembled— Madame de Pons began to 
undress the child, to look for a little red mark which her baby 
had below the elbow." , 

" Here it is," said Lizette in great agitation, as she pulled up 
her sleeve- " here it is. Heavenly Father, leave me my senses. 

"Hush!" said the cure, gently laying his hand on the young 

girl's arm. „ . . „ 

" The lady's-maid relieved me from my embarrassment, con- 
tinued the nurse ; " for, as you may well guess, the red mark 
was not te be found. ' Did I not tell you so, my lady? cried 
she. ' I said it was only a heat in the skin, and not the mark ot 
• a strawberry : and your ladyship would not believe me ; and now, 
mv lady, you see I was right.' * Oh, Avhat happiness to have her 
so'strong, so healthy!' was the only answer of Madame de Pons. 
<How could I have ventured to hope it with such delicate healtli 
as I have always had. But I cannot leave her again; I will 
stay here till she is to be weaned.' And this, sir, was the way I 
changed the children." 

The nurse ceased speaking. There was a profound silence, 
which Lizette was the first to break. " And you are not my 

mother?" , . , ,. j. 

" But I love you as if I were. Had it not been for me, lor my 
cares, you would have died. Lizette, Lizette," said the poor 
woman, clasping her trembling hands, "be not more inexorable 
than the God before whom I am about to appear. Forgive, tor- 

o'ive me." 

° " I do, I do," said Lizette, throwing herself, bathed in tears, 
into the arms of her nurse ; " for it was you who made me so big 
and strong ; vou loved me, you made me happy. Are not these 
tears the first" you ever caused to flow ? Be at peace, my own 



PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 

poor mother; far from vexing your last moments, your child 
Messes you." j j ^ ^^^^ 

" You are a grood and g-enerous girl," said the cure to Lizette. 
As for you. Dame Margaret, though you have done a grievous 

sTved^L^chnl" '^"^^ ''^"""^^ ^^''^' ^"^' '''''' y^" ^^^^ 

" But I gave her my o^yn child," interrupted Dame Margaret: 
and now I must die without one look at her, without one kiss 

•01 ner sweet lips." 

"Am I not your child too, mother?" said Lizette in a tone 
01 sort reproach. 

" Blessings be on your head, my child, for that one sweet word ; 
It makes death less bitter." Her voice now failed her, and in a 
lew moments she had ceased to breathe. 

11. 

One forenoon, shortly after the death of Dame Marg'aret a 
young country girl descended from a diligence which had iust 
arrived at the place of its destination in Paris. Her dress was 
the costume of the peasantry of Marseilles. A short petticoat 
displayed a pretty pair of ankles, and two small feet in black 
shoes with silver buckles. A clear muslin handkerchief trimmed 
with lace gave to view a neck embrowned by the noonday sun, 
while a little cap surmounted by a large hat of black felt, with a 
broad gold band, shaded a fine and marked countenance The 
diligences in France do not set down their passengers in the open 
street, as is the custom with stage-coaches in Eno-l^d Thev 
drive into a spacious courtyard, to which no strange!^ for mere 
curiosity ai;e admitted, and therefore the passengers are not in- 
commoded by a crowd. Lizette, as the young girl was who had 
now arrived m Pans, having received her trunk, and had 
It examined by the attendant custom-house officers,* felt herself 
alone and friendless, and sat down to compose her feelino-s before 
venturing out to the long busy streets of which she had seen 
something in coming through the city. How long she mio-ht 
have sat rummating on the object of her enterprise, is uncertain • 
her meditations were suddenly broken in upon by the abrupt 
request of one of the clerks, that she would move out of the way 
Aroused by the discourteous order, the poor girl proceeded to 
procure a porter^^ and asked him to show her the way to the house 
of Madame de Pons in the Rue de Rivoli ; and, as if to prove 

•« * 5°%''''^''1''*^^' ''?''^'^' ""^ ^^'^ °^^^«i- The octroi is a tax collected 
in every French town for the benefit of the munieipaUty ; it is levied in 
tne torm ot a duty on certain articles entering the town ; and so rigorously 
JS this exacted that the appointed officers search the trunks of traveller/, 
and even the baskets which the country people bring to market. An 
enormous sum is thus raised annually by the octroi duties in Paris. 



PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 

that she was not mistaken in the address, she drew from her 
pocket a letter, and handed it to the porter. 

" It is quite right ; the very thing-," said he : " follow me." 
And taking- up the lug-ga.f}:e, he proceeded, accompanied by the 
girl, in the direction of the Rue de Rivoli. 

Lizette was almost bewildered with the spectacle of the crowded 
streets, the dashing- of carriag:es, and the great height of the 
houses, whose tops, to her imagination, seemed to reach the 
clouds. She was also struck with the splendour of the public 
buildings ; and when the porter conducted her through the 
arcades of the Palais Royal, gay with the most elegant shops, 
and picturesque from the spouting of the jets-d'eau, she thought 
she was in a place of enchantment. " How delightful it will be 
for me to come often to see these grand scenes," said she to her- 
self, " scenes from which I have been so long kept by an impos- 
tor. I shall now soon see this daughter of a peasant who has 
so long- enjoyed my fortune, my name, and my mother's caresses. 
How proud the girl must be ! With what a patronising air she 
will receive me ! — but what pleasure it will be to humble her by 
giving her this letter from the cure ! Oh, how mortified she will 
be when she reads the dying confession of Dame Margaret ! " 
Indulging such thoughts of bitterness, Lizette followed her 
guide out of the Palais Royal into the Rue St Honore, along 
which she had to go for some way. The sight of the church of 
St Roche arrested her attention, and gave a salutary turn to 
her feelings, and the young girl exclaimed, " Oh, what a vile 
creature I am ! What bad thoughts I have been cherishing ! 
What, shall I, who am about to deprive her of everything, shall 
I insult her 1 Will she not have grief enough ? Cruel that 
I am ; may God forgive me ! I must perform my devotions," 
said she, turning quickly to the guide ; " wait here for me one 
moment." 

" And welcome, miss,"* said the porter. " I am answerable for 
your luggage," added he, as he showed his badge. 

The young girl ascended the steps of the church ; and as she 
knelt before the altar, with eyes fixed upon the letter, which she 
still held in both hands, murmured, " Oh, my God, give me 
strength for this hour ! — teach me words to say to my mother 
that she may acknowledge me, that she may love me ; for how 
can a poor girl brought up in the country know how to speak to 
a great lady ! And oh, my God, soften my heart, and teach 
me to look kindly upon her who has usurped my place, and 
give me gentle words to say to her. It Avas not her fault that 
she robbed me of everything. Make me kind to her, oh, very 
kind to her, for I am about to make her very unhappy. I am 
about to deprive her of one mother, and I have not another to 
give her — Dame Margaret is dead." This recollection made her 
tears flow afresh, and Lizette — for so we shall still call her — re- 
mained for some moments as if overwhelmed by'the many con- 

5 



PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 

flicting" feelings that agitated her. At length, relieved by the 
tears which she now freely shed, she left the church, and finding 
the porter where she had left him, both turned into the Rue de 
Rivoli. 

When Lizette reached the door, when her foot was on the 
threshold of her mother's house, that house which she was about 
to enter as a stranger, her heart sank Avithin her. But, sum- 
moning all her courage, she ascended the steps boldly, and, like 
most timid persons, who, having by a violent effort overcome 
their natural character, overact their paa't, she rang until she : 
broke the bell. The startled footman ran to open the door, and 
when he saw only a country'- girl and a porter with a small trunk, 
he said somewhat roughly, " What business have you to ring in 
such a way ? " 

" I want to see Madame de Pons," answered Lizette, affecting 
a confidence which was fast forsaking her. 

^' Who in the world is ringing in such a way ? I am sure it 
must wake my lady," said a waiting-maid in a very sharp tone, 
who now made her appearance ; when, suddenly perceiving the 
costume of Lizette, she added more civilly, " From Marseilles ? 
Are you the daughter of Dame Margaret?" 

The title of daughter of Dame Margaret seemed to arouse all 
the pride which Lizette had struggled so hard to subdue, and 
she answered, " I am the foster-sister of her whom you call Made- 
moiselle de Pons." 

" Whom we call Mademoiselle de Pons ! AYell, that is droll 
enough, my little country girl. Wait here, child ; I will go 
to Mademoiselle. How delighted she will be to see her little 
Lizette ; she is always talking of her ! " 

" Do not tell her too suddenly, Gertrude," said the footman ; 
" you know how nervous our young lady is." 

" Does the man think I am a fool ?" returned the maid rather 
angrily ; " do not I know better than you can tell me the state 
of Mademoiselle Clotilda's nerves? Make your mind easy, I 
will tell her the good news without doing her any harm ; wait 
here for me, my good girl." 

" How much she is beloved and respected," thought Lizette. 
" At length, then, I shall see her and speak to her ! " 

After the lapse of five minutes, which appeared as many ages 
to the impatience of the young girl, the distant rustle of a silk 
dress was heard, and Lizette fixed her eyes with a feeling that 
was almost terror on the door through which Gertrude had 
disappeared. It opened, and a tall and beautiful creature ran 
forward with extended arms, exclaiming, " Lizette, Lizette ; 
welcome, welcome, my sister" — and taking both her hands with 
the most winning tenderness, she again said, " Welcome, most 
welcome ! How thankful I am that God put it into your heart to 
come to us ! How is my nurse ? But what is the matter ? Have 
you no kiss for me ? Surely you are not afraid of me ?" 



PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 

Lizette was confounded. She was not prepared for such a 
reception, and if her g-entle and ing-enuous nature had ever har- 
boured one feeling' of hatred and resentment ag-ainst her who 
had so innocently usurped her place, it gave way before these 
tender manifestations of spontaneous affection. 

*' Dame Margaret is dead," answered Lizette. She had scarcely 
littered the words, when she felt caressing* arms around her neck, 
and the pressure of soft lips in an affectionate kiss. " Alas, alas ! 
but together we will weep for her," murmured Clotilda. " My 
poor nurse! And you came off to us at once : you knew you 
would lind here a mother, and a sister too. Is it not so? How 
I love you for the thought ! Yes, you are my sister, and every- 
body here must love, respect, and obey you. Do you hear 
me ?" added she, turning- to the servants who had been drawn, 
into the passag-e by this little scene ; " this is a second Made- 
moiselle de Pons : w'e have shared the same milk ; I deprived 
her of the half of her mother's caresses and cares ; surely she 
has every rig"ht to the half of all that belongs to me. I must 
except, however, the half of my mother's love," said she, in- 
terrupting- hei'self with somewhat of the air of a spoiled child ; 
*' but I will give you some little portion of it, Lizette, so do not 
be uneasy." 

*' Oh, if I could but see her ! " said poor Lizette, almost grasp- 
ing" for breath. 

" See my mother ! " said Clotilda ; '•'■ you cannot see her yet ; 
she is in bed ; but come with me." 

Lizette shrank back, and Clotilda now perceived the porter, and 
she instantly ordered that he should be paid and dismissed. " Come, 
come, dear sister," said she ; " the joy of seeing- you is too much 
for me. I feel quite faint ; but I care not, it is all delight." And 
taking- Lizette's hand, she led her through some splendidly-fur- 
nished rooms into a small apartment, where wealth had collected 
all that could be conceived most luxuriously useful, and most 
uselessly luxurious. " Now you are in my quarters," said Clo- 
tilda, as with gentle force she made Lizette sit down in a large 
arm-chair, and took a seat on a stool at her feet. " This is my 
sitting-room, on the right is my bed-room, on the left ray study; 
at the end of that alcove is a door opening into Gertrude's room ; 
but I will send her to sleep elsew^here, and I will give you her 
room, so that we shall be together night and day. But perhaps 
you may not be a sound sleeper, and I may disturb yow ; I am 
so often so very ill during the night : I have such bad health, 
the slightest exertion brings on fever ; feel my hand now, is it 
not burning? — all from the delight of seeing you. Any painful 
emotion must kill me, I am persuaded; and therefore it is that 
every one tries to spare me the least vexation. Everybody tries 
to please me, no one contradicts me, so that I am quite spoiled. 
But this delicacy I inherit from mamma. My lather had a 
strong constitution, at least I have been told so; for, alas! I 

f 



PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 

never knew him ; he died of a fall from his horse about two years 
after I was born. But how well you are looking' ! What fine 
rosy cheeks you have got, and your arms so firm, so rounded ! '' 
added Clotilda, playfully patting- Lizette's cheek. " How happy 
you must be ! It is so sad to be ill, and I am always ill. Bu^ 
you do not answer me. What is the matter ? You are cold, re- 
served. Do you not love me ?" 

" I am only just arrived," stammered Lizette, " and I do not 
yet know you." 

'^ And do I know more of you ? When two children have been 
fed with the same milk, and have slept in the same cradle, do 
they, when they meet, require ages in order to love each other ? 
You are a naug-hty girl, Lizette, for that speech. Kiss me. Now 
I will have it so ; contradiction always makes me ill." 



III. 

Lizette was deeply affected by the sweet caresses of Clotilda, 
who, as a being all sentiment and of the most delicate health, 
seemed to the country girl something different from ordinary 
mortals. There was novelty in every look and expression of 
the gentle creature, and as Lizette yielded to her embrace, she 
timidly returned her friendly kiss. Clotilda, now rising", made 
Lizette stand up with her, and placed her before a mirror, crying, 
" Y^ou see j'ou are exactly my size ; my frocks will fit you. Your 
style of dress is pretty, but you must change it for my sake. I 
should wish so much to see you dressed like me." And at this 
moment, in obedience to a feminine instinct, the two young girls 
cast at one another a furtive glance of rapid survey. 

As Clotilda had remarked, all in Lizette breathed health. Her 
polished forehead, her finely-proportioned figure, which, though 
tall and robust, was still perfect in its symmetry ; her roseate 
cheeks, her large sparkling black eyes ; her whole person, in 
short, with its young healthful beauty, was a striking contrast 
to the languid and delicate appearance which Clotilda presented. 
Of equal height with Lizette, her fragile form seemed bending, 
yet gracefully bending, under suffering, which clouded her fair 
face, and obscured the brilliancy of her beautiful eyes ; while heir 
long black hair gave to her cheek a pale and sickly liue. Her 
voice, which, when she began to speak, had somewhat of feverish 
excitement, became by degrees almost inaudible, and her last 
words died upon her lips. 

The mutual survey caused a momentary silence ; and Lizette, 
steeling herself against the emotion with which the sight of the 
suffering Clotilda and her touching kindness inspired her, reite- 
rated her desire to see Madame de Pons. 

" Impossible just now, dear girl," answered Clotilda, as she 
leant for support on the shoulder of Lizette ; " we must not go 
8 



PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 

to inamma's room till noon. Oh, what a simpleton I am ! not to 
be able to liear any event, sad or g-ay. My heart is beating- — 
beating- so that I can scarcely breathe. I am sure I shall die 
suddenly some day. But here I am chattering ; I am listening 
only to myself, thinking; only of myself; and this poor child, so 
i:;-raVe, so silent, while in my scllishness I am making* her get up 
and sit down, without ever inquiring: if she wants anything*. 
Are you hungry ( Are you thirsty ( Mould you like to undress, 
to lie down for a little while I 1 believe I am bewildering- you," 
resumed she, laughing* with charming- naivete. 

'' Oh, I want nothing- — only to see Madame de Pons," again 
said Lizettp, clasping* her hands almost despairingly. 

^' ^^ ell, 1 will go and try if we can see her. Perhaps you have 
some message for her from my poor nurse I That letter, I sup- 
pose, is for mamma ?" said Clotilda, extending* her hand for the 
document, so important to Lizette ; but perceiving the almost 
convulsive grasp with which she still retained it, she resumed — 
" Vou wish to give it to her j'ourself I "Well, just as j'ou like ; I 
will not contradict you. But, as in any case you cannot see 
mamma for an hour, take off j-^our hat, let down your hair ; do 
here just as you would at home. I will go and see if mamma 
be awake. But you will be lonely ; here is a book for you to 
read.'' 

Lizette, for the fii*st time in her life, experienced a feeling of 
shame. She, who had come to the house so proud of her newly- 
discovered birth, so haughtily determined to assert her rights, 
and to mortify her who had usurped her place, now suddenly 
felt the inferiority resulting* from the want of education ; but, too 
proud to dissemble, she coldly said, while her cheek crimsoned, 
and her eyes sought the ground, " 1 do not know how to read." 

Clotilda suffered an exclamation of surprise to escape her ; 
then, in generous fear of having wounded Lizette, she took her 
in her arms, and, while lavishing* upon her almost infantine 
caresses, cried, " Forgive me, forgive me ! Not for worlds would 
I have made you blush. But why should you be ashamed, sweet 
pet I It is only because j'ou were not taught to read, that is all, 
so never mind. But do not tell it to any one else, I beg of you ; 
for there are people who would be stupid enough to laugh at 
you, and this would so grieve me. I will teach you myself to 
read — would you like it .' — and to write too, and to sing, and to 
draw, and do everything that I can do. Tell me, do tell me, would 
you like it ?" 

At this fresh instance of disinterested affection and angelic 
goodness, Lizette felt all the icy barriers give way. Ever since 
the extraordinary declaration of Dame Margaret, she had expe- 
rienced neither peace nor happiness. Her mind had been in a 
constant tumult, her better nature struggling with an ambition 
of which she had previously had no experience. It was a war 
of Passion and Principle, victory now inclining to one side, and 

9 



PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 

HOW to the other, but principle on the whole maintaining its 
sway in the conflict. The kindness of Clotilda, so unexpected, 
and, in a great degree, undeserved, g-ave new force to Principle. 
Had she been received with the cold indifference she had almost 
anticipated, the consciousness of injury would have caused her 
"unhesitating-ly to proclaim the object of her visit, and, in strict 
justice, she would have been right. But justice, unblended with 
compassion — w'ith the charity which suifereth long, and is kind 
— what miseries may not be produced in its name ; how often 
may it miscalculate and overshoot the mark ! Lizette was no 
casuist. Without staying to reckon with what advantage the 
blow of justice might be suspended, she felt that it would be 
cruel to undeceive and render miserable the sensitive being* 
who, with a kindness as uncalculating as her own, had offered 
to communicate the accomplishments of which she was so defi- 
cient. Instead of pronouncing the death warrant of the fragile 
creature in the words — " Go, thou who hast hitherto lived in. 
thy happiness, surrounded by the fond cares of love. Go, thou 
who hast had till this moment a mother, wealth, illustrious 
name. Go, thou whose tender arms are still entwined around 
me : I am come to strip thee of everything — to take from thee 
mother, wealth, name'"' — she gazed once more on the pale face 
of Clotilda ; and, abandoning herself to the impulses of her noble 
nature, excited to the utmost, she in her turn took her foster- 
sister in her arms, and, covering her cheek with kisses and with 
tears, exclaimed, " Keep all, keep all ; you are more worthy of 
all than I am." 

" What am I to keep, dear girl ? " said Clotilda in some sur- 
prise. "Have you kindly brought me some souvenir from 
Marseilles?" 

" I believe that I am mad," said Lizette, hiding her face in her 
hands. 

" Mademoiselle," said Gertrude, gently opening the door, ^- my 
lady is asking for you. She has heard of the arrival of Dame 
Margaret's daughter, and wishes to see her." 

" Heavenly Father, forsake me not ! " murmured Lizette ; and 
her trembling limbs almost refused their office, as she arose to 
obey the summons. 

" Stay here a moment," said Clotilda, as soon as they reached 
the door of her mother's room. " Mamma's first glance, as well 
as her first caress, must be mine." And she bounded into the 
room, while Lizette, involuntarily obeying the order, remained 
near the half-open door, following the movements of the young 
g-irl with a gaze into which her whole soul had passed. Clotilda 
approached the bed, drew back the curtains, and Lizette looked 
upon the face of her mother. At the same instant a voice fell 
npon her ear — the voice of her mother. Oh, if Lizette were not 
at that moment at her feet, if she did not avow herself, if she did 
not cry, " Mother, mother, I am your child ! " it was because the 

10 



PASSION AND rRINCIPLB. 

mighty emotion slie experienced left her powerless to speak or 

"^"Well, dearest, what have you done with Lizette?'"' asked 

Madame de Pons. -, -, . .-u- ^^ i 

Every pulse of Lizette's heart responded to this name uttered 
bv her mother. She rushed into the room. At the first g-lance, 
Madame de Pons started, and exchximed, "Those eyes! those 
€ves ! what a wonderful resemblance !" , , . 

""Who is she like?" inquired Clotilda, alternately glancmg 
from her mother's agitated countenance to Lizette's large black 

"She has your father's eyes," said Madame de Pons— "your 
father's eyes Oh, why should a stranger have those eyes, and 
not my Clotilda, my child, the child of our love ? Come to me, 
Lizette; do not cast down your eyes; look up at nae— again— 
acrain— that glance at once revives and kills me. Poor child ! 
riut who is weeping there?" asked Madame de Pons m sudden 

terror. ,„ . , . j 

Clotilda had thrown herself mto a chair, and was weepmg 

bitterly 

"What is the matter, my child?" cried her mother, as she 

caught her hand. ^ -, , -. • x, 

"I am weeping that I have not my father's eyes, whicJi 
Heaven has given to Lizette and denied to me," said Clotilda, 
with a look of deep sorrow. " You will now love Lizette better 
than me, and look at her more often." 

" Dearest child," cried Madame de Pons, raising her daughter, 
and straining her to her bosom — " dearest child, what strange 
notion have you taken up ? Oh, do not weep, I implore of you ; 
you will make yourself ill. Remember the physicians have 
warned you against giving way to emotion. Clotilda, remember 
your health is my health, your life is my life. Do not envy this 
young creature her eyes. See how calmly I can gaze upon them 

Lizette, who had been throughout this scene like one m a 
di-eam, so entirely had the violence and variety of her emotions 
overwhelmed her, now awoke to consciousness, and her lirst 
impulse was to conceal the letter which she stiU held m her 

Madame de Pons perceiving this movement on the part of 
Lizette, asked, " Is it for me, from Dame Margaret?" 

« Yes no— no, madam," stammered out Lizette ; and then, as 

if overwrought feeling could no longer be restrained, she burst 
into convulsive sobs, exclaiming, " I have lost my mother ! I 
have lost my mother ! " Exclamation how ill understood ! Nor 
of all present, the poor child alone knew to what immolation of 
self it had doomea her — to what a painful sacrifice it had for 
ever pledged her. 

Self-denying principle had conquered. 



PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 



IV. 



Lizette now took her place in the family of Madame de Pon. 
fLu: cZmI ^ri -^^-^--i^ter of th^ accompSd th^^g J 
sWpU f if i; tf^' ^^''""^ advantage, immediate or remote 
she felt that her fate was not in her own hand and calr^l^ 
awaited whatever Providence might determine. ki?lXltS 
noble dismterestedness, from the" time that piinc^e had o^e? 

lTa'tf^TZ\'f:T^ r ^^^' ^-^t^hette.'d^mra 
worn, sutteied not a gesture to escape her which could betrnv 
either what she was or what she suffered. Her intercXsrwVth 
Clotilda was the calm, and gentle, and grateful -ec S 'of "^^^^ 
rlTf/i^' 'r"l'^'' *^" endearments which the gWious oH 
delighted to lavish upon her friend and sister. iCs assisted 
she rapidly acquired the accomplishments of which she had the 
misfortune to be deficient. Clotilda was her constant instructress 
until she required tuition from professors of the dS^bran^^^^^^^^ 

i'iiudme ae i oub, that lady, foUowmo- the bent of a kiiirl fi;« 
position, took charge of he/ with almolt maternal affect on and 
was dehghted to observe the progress she made „ her studies 
as weU as the improvement in he? appearance and manners No 
longer the rustic belle, Lizette was an accomplished youn" 
a^S'^piic-?^.'""' '°""'^'' -*--SaUitsoAginalwSl 
Accustomed to an hourly intercourse with Clotilda, she learned 
to subdue all restraint in her company. But with Madame de 

snke' of '.^f''' ^^'T'.^ '^'' }^'I^ ^'^''' «f self-possessFon In 
III \v ^''^ '^f ^' '* "^^^ ^^ffi^^l^ ^^^d painful to give to her 
trembling voice the tone of mere respect-to school the beam 
mg glance of aiFection into the look of mere deference TMs 
was mdeed a struggle, and a daily, an hourly stru^tle • L' 
never did she behold the mother of whom she had" thus a 
second time been deprived, that her heart was not in hei eyes 
upon her lips This perpetual conflict at length undennTed 
herhealth,and "fat, rosy Lizette," as Clotilda had lauo'w^ 
called her-while with ready tact catching up the refinement if 
habit and manner, and the accomplishments of her foS-slter 
^seemed to catch from her also the pale cheek, the bent and 
fragile form, and the pensive look of liabitual suffei'nt Two 
years passed in this way. But there was one eye tha noted 
the secret stm^le one Being npon whom was not lost a shfo le 
pang endured by the heroic young creature in her generou self! 
sacrifice; and that compassionate God, who alone knew how 
severe was the tTial, ordained that it shoild be shortened: 

snPh .!vf ^1 V^'^ " •^""^ ^'^'" "^ ^^^3^ 1830, which caused 
such political changes in France, led also to much private and 



PASSIO^' AND PRINCIPLE. 

family distress. The house of Madame de Pons was not imme- 
diately within the sphere of commotion, and that lady mig-ht 
have escaped any injury had it not been her misfortune to be 
returning' home from a visit she had been making on the Boule- 
vards, when the popular ferment Urst assumed the appearance 
of a revolt. Alarmed with the shouts which were raised, and 
the report of distant firing', she requested her coachman to drive 
by a little frequented thoroughfare to the Rue Rivoli ; but this 
proved an unfortunate movement. The line she had taken con- 
ducted her nearly into the heart of a fray, caused hj the seizure 
of the office of a journalist by the police. The officers and sol- 
diers sent to execute this unpleasant duty, though not opposed 
on the spot, were not suifered to escape popular indignation. A 
barrier was raised across the street, and in endeavouring to pass 
it, they were met by a steady tire of musketry from windows 
and other quarters, which obliged them to retreat and seek egress 
in another direction. 

Into the midst of this uproar, the carriage of Madame de Pons 
was almost driven ; and in hurriedly wheelino* to return, it was 
■overset with a crash on the pavement. The disaster drew for a 
moment the attention of the crowd, and the poor lady was lifted 
with compassion from her perilous situation into a neighbouring 
cafe. At tirst she was thought to be killed, but she had only 
swooned, and every effort was humanely made to restore her to 
consciousness. 

Meanwhile, the absence of Madame de Pons had caused the 
greatest alarm to Clotilda and Lizette. Rumours of the com- 
motion and booming reports of musketry reached the Rue 
Rivoli, and scarcely could the two girls be restrained from rush- 
ing forth, each animated with the same acute feelings, to seek for 
her beloved parent. Prevented by the less fervid domestics from 
taking this dangerous and useless step, they stationed themselves 
in the balcony to watch her arrival. 

" Oh support me in this dreadful moment, dear Lizette," said 
the agonised Clotilda. " If mamma should be injured, I know 
I shall die. I am almost dead already. Let me lean upon you. 
How my heart beats ! Ah, did you hear that noise ? It is a 
cannon on the Boulevards, And how is mj mother to get home ? 
O God, guard her in this dreadful peril." So saying, the frail 
being sunk into a seat overcome with the force of her emotions. 

Lizette, with feelings wound up to a similar pitch, was not less 
anxious for the safety of her mother; but still keeping down the 
confession of her sufferings, she bore herself through this trying 
crisis with the heroism of a martyr. Her heart, laid on the altar 
of Princi}>le, burnt with a pure and steady flame. Affecting a 
calmness in her agitation, she beseeched Clotilda to compose her- 
self, and tried to show her that Madame de Pons would certainly 
be safe' among her friends, and that at any rate, it was not much 
beyond the time she was to return. 



PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 

" Ah, it is easy for you to speak so calmly," said Clotilda ; 
"she is not your mother; if she were, perhaps you would feel 
differently."' 

Lizette drew her breath convulsively, and pressed her hand 
on her eyes : for a moment she was almost tempted to declare 
with what justice she was entitled to feel acutely on account of 
Madame de Pons. But it was only for a moment. The bright 
sunshine of mind resumed its power of banishing these dark 
thoughts, and looking out on the street beneath, she cried with 
vivacity — " Look, dear Clotilda, did I not say that your mamma 
would soon appear ; and there is the carriage turning the corner 
of the Rue des PjTamids." 

And sure enough there was the carriage ; but it was pro- 
ceeding- slowly, as if some accident had occurred ; and the two 
girls, nearly frantic with mingled hopes and fears, ran down 
stairs, and reached the door in time to see Madame de Pons 
lifted out to all appearance lifeless. At this sight Lizette for an 
instant forgot everything, and exclaimed, " My mother ! my 
mother! — I have lost my mother! — she is dead!" Clotilda 
uttered a piercing cry of agony, and fell into the arms of her 
sister. 

V. 

Except a slight bruise, Madame de Pons had not suffered any 
personal injury. She had only fainted on the occasion of the 
accident, and again fainted when about to see her daughter. A 
physician being sent for, she was immediately restored ; but not 
for an hour was she permitted to speak to those about her. As 
soon as her feelings were calmed, she asked for her daughter^ 

" If you please, my lady," said the waiting-maid, " Made- 
moiselle Clotilda has been so much alarmed, that it would be 
more prudent not to see her just now. If your ladyship would 
lie down for an hour or two longer, my young lady would by 
that time be more composed." 

" You are quite right, Gertrude," said Madame de Pons. 
" Implore of her from me to be calm. Doctor," said she, " pray 
go to my daughter ; she requires your care more than I do." 

The soft sweet voice of Lizette assuring- her that Madame de 
Pons had only fainted from alarm, and was now quite well, had 
just recalled Clotilda to consciousness, when the physician entered. 
He found her very ill : the shock had been too great ; and that 
weak frame and tender nature had wholly given way. The 
doctor ordered a composing draught, and left her to the care of 
Lizette. 

" Dear Lizette," said Clotilda, " I am dying. It is very young 
to die — to leave my mother, my sister. My head is quite con- 
fused. Was it a dream, or did I indeed hear you say, * Mother, 
mother,' when mamma was brought in fainting ? At this instant 

14 



PASSION AND TRINCIPLB. 

memory recalls a thousand times when your lips appeared foi-m^ 
in-- the woi-d ' mother ;' and then your tace suddenly crimsoned. 
How many confused recollections crowd upon me at this moment. 
What can' it mean J Those eyes! that marvellous resemblance! 
Am I mad? IMerciful Heaven! there have been such thing^s as 
children chang-ed at nurse. Lizette, you answer not— you hesi- 
tate— you are torturing- me! Speak! speak! You would kill 
me, it' my mother's famting form had not already broken my 

heart" 

Lizette threw herself, weeping, into Clotilda's arms. 
" Ah, you will not speak : you fear to tell me the dreadful 
reality. But remember, suspense, suspense is tenfold suffering." 
'■ Be calm, dearest ; be calm. When you are well again, I will 
explain all," said Lizette, and fondly caressing her, endeavoured 
to soothe her into something like composure. 

"I know all!" exclaimed she with almost frenzied excite-^ 
ment. " That letter ! that letter contained the fatal secret. I 
see it' all. For two years, sweet angel, you have been content to 
receive at my hands what was yours, and not one word said, 
' What you jr'ive is my own.' You have sacrificed everything to 
me. And while I was robbing you of a mother s affection, of a 
mothei-'s caresses, you suffered, you wept in silence. For often 
have I seen you weep ; and, mad and selfish as I was, I guessed 
not, I knew not. Lizette, I may restore all to you ; but how- 
atone for those two years of disinterested self-sacrifice ? My life, 
my life is a cheap purchase for the happiness you permitted me 
to enjoy. Lizette, I am dying." 

"Oh, my sister, do not thus reproach yourself," exclaimed 
Lizette, pressing Clotilda to her bosom; "thou hast been an 
angel to me. I came to brave thee, and thy gentle goodness dis^ 
armed me. I resisted thy caresses, and thou didst but redouble 
them. I was rude and ignorant ; and all that I am, and all that 
I enjoy, I owe to thee. Thou hast given me more than I could 
give to thee." 

"Thy heart is like thy sweet face, my own sister," con- 
tinued 'Clotilda, with her tearful eyes fixed upon Lizette; "but 
tell me how I deserved from thee so vast a sacrifice. Didst thou 
love me before we saw each other in Paris ?' 

" I did not love thee then, Clotilda, forgive me ; I did not love 
thee ; but was this a reason that I should kill thee, and thou so 
frail, so delicate ? " 

The two young creatures were silent for some moments. 
Locked in each other's arms, they were mingling their tears, 
when the approach of a light step made them both start. " It is 
my mother ! " exclaimed both at the same instant ; but Clotilda 
repeated, in a tone of bitter anguish, " My mother ! I have no 
mother ! " 

" Hush, sweet sister," whispered Lizette j " why need we un- 
deceive hep?" 

15 



PASSION AND PSINCIPLE. 

S^V^'^^'^^'^U^ ...tituae, and that .00. 

passed upon that fair youncr Lp .1! ™-''J ^''^ '^'^""S'^ that had 

tjlda; drive me not to desnal w? '•°^' ^^ ''^'"' ^^eet C]o- 

"Mother!" mu^uredStild^ »? ^ 7 °" ^-^ P"" ""'*er°' 

head upon the bosom o/Madami 1^°'' ^audibly, laying, her 

oonTuls.ye sobs-"Mother l"ie in tT' ^^'' "«^^ S'"^ ^ay to 

?t a stroke, and carried to her o2" "^T *''"' *'''^^° *•»"' J^er 
in a paroxvsm of de™»ir .% ? apartment; and there when 

to live for.- MyeMd?S,'^:,.t5f''™f'i, "I have noth ™w 

red to l^i ,£r?t ^- " trt^U-^ ~ 

Need it be added th^-h ^ 
thankful for heiZ smv^rl ^'f ^'^co^^eiy, Madame de Pons was 
Clotilda; and that iL liable T -'^/Z' ^^^^^ P^^^ «^ ^- dla' 
so richly merited, in ha"' V''' 'T^'^ '^' reward she 
Passion to Princi23le ^ '"^ ^°''§' ^^^^ «« Piously sacrificed 











L I F E-A SSURANCR 



A FAMILIAR DIALOGUE. 



Thomson. — Mr Jones, do you happen to know anything" of life- 
assurance? My wife's father has lately been speaking to me of 
it, as a thing calculated to be useful to me. But I must candidly 
say, although I have seen all kinds of advertisements on the sub- 
ject in newspapers and under the covers of magazines, I am still 
as ignorant of it as if I were an infant. 

Jones. — If that is the case, Mr Thomson, I would recommend 
your giving the subject some attention immediately ; for, as you 
are a recently-married man, with children beginning to drop in 
upon you, you are quite the sort of person to whom it should not 
be unknown. 

Thomson. — I am w^illing enough to know^ a little of it, Mr Jones, 
but don't know how that is to be brought about. Somehow, 
whenever I look into an encyclopedia for anything, I find they 
tell me so much, and go so deeply into it, that I remain about 
as io-norant as I was. Perhaps you can give me such an off- 
hand account of life-assurance as I can understand? 

Jones. — I am willing at least to try ; but let me remark in the 
first place, that I don't like to hear you, or any other man, com- 
plaining of the difficulty of understanding what you read of in 
books. There are many subjects which no writer on earth could 
make intelligible at merely a superficial reading. When a sub- 
ject is out of the common line, involving calculations and com- 
plicated details, we cannot expect to run over it as glibly as 
No. 44. I 



LIFE-ASSURANCE. 

a fairy tale, and yet catch up its whole sense and bearings. la 
such a case, I humbly conceive we ought to exercise a little 
patience, and give a degree of attention proportioned to the 
nature of the subject; albeit, I own, it is well that every writer 
should endeavour, on the other hand, to make himself as readily 
understood as possible. 

Thomson. — Well, I daresay you are right, Mr Jones ; but still 
I think I should be much more likely to understand life-assur- 
ance if you were to tell me about it hy word of mouth, than if I 
were to read about it in any book whatever. I know you are 
acquainted with the subject, for I have often seen your aame in 
the list of directors of one of the societies. 

Jones. — Yes, I have a general acquaintance with it, from long 
connexion with its business ; but if I attempt to sketch the sub- 
ject as you propose, you must allow me to introduce a few state- 
ments of an arithmetical kind, without which it could not be 
made intelligible. On that condition, I shall do my best. 

Thomson. — Ag-reed, so that you don't take me too deep ; for I 
fairly tell you beforehand I cannot follow you there. 

Jones. — Well, well [smiling), I shall endeavour to be as shallow 
as possible. You of course know the nature of the benefits sought 
for from life-assurance ? Not distinctly 1 Well, they are simply 
these. The most common case is when a man, such as yourself, 
wishes that his widow, children, or other dependent relatives, 
should have a certain sum secured for their use, in the event of 
his being suddenly removed from the midst of them. Another 
not unusual case is where a creditor, fearing that his debtor may 
be long in paying him, or may die before he acquires the ability 
to discharge his debts, assures that, at the debtor's death, he 
may receive a sum sufficient to cover the debt. There are other 
uses for life-assurance ; but the first of these is the principal ; 
namely, to make provision for helpless persons against the pos- 
sible sudden death of the person on whom they depend. 

Thomson. — But how can such benefits be secured? It is all 
very well for a man to secure a good round sum for his widow 
or children ; but either he must pay an equival-ent, and therefore 
would be no benefiter, or the office must be a loser by him 1 

Jones. — Neither is the case. The beauty of life-assurance is, 
that you or any man may, for a small sum, secure these desired 
benefits ; and yet no one is, or can be, a loser by him. 

Thomson. — What ! That seems to me self-contradictory. But 
explain yourself. 

Jones. — Your remark, Mr Thomson, only shows that life-assur- 
ance is yet little understood even amongst the classes to whom 
it holds forth most advantage. I could almost wish to see a 
peculiar class of missionaries going about to make it known to 
all such as you. But to proceed. Life-assurance is, in its fun- 
damental principle, like a benefit society. A certain number 
of persons club payments, that those who die within a certaia 



LIFE-ASSURANCE. 

time may receive — or rather that their heirs may receive — the 
ago-reg'ate amongst them. Here every one takes his chance. 
Each pays a small sum, that, in a certain contingency, he may 
get back a large one. Though the occasion for getting the large 
sum should not arise, he has still had value for his money, for 
he has been assured that, in the event of his death, the large sum 
would have been realised. The non-receivers are therefore no 
losers, while the heirs of the deceased ai'e, I may say, enriched. 

Thomson. — All this I can understand. But you speak rather 
ideally than formally. Please tell me what the arrangements 
actually are. 

Jones, — With pleasure. Life-assurance depends, then, upon 
what is comparatively a modern discovery amongst mankind ; 
namely, that life, while proverbially uncertain in the individual, 
is determined with respect to a multitude ; being governed, like 
everything else in nature, by fixed laws. It is found that, out 
of any large number of persons at a particular age, the deaths 
during the ensuing year will be a certain number. Suppose we 
take ten thousand Englishmen of the age of 52, we are as sure as 
we are of times of eclipses, and the rising of the sun and moon, 
that the deaths amongst them in the next year will be just about 
150. This is learned from experience ; that is, by the keeping 
of tables of mortality. The number is liable to be different in. 
different countries and in different ages. In England, a century 
ago, when the circumstances in which the people lived were less 
favouimble to health, there would have been a greater mortality 
than 150. So also would there probably be in some other Euro- 
pean countries at the present time. But, taking- England as it 
is, such is a specimen of what experience tells us respecting the 
chances of death amongst our population. Of course, amongst 
ten thousand younger persons, the deaths are fewer ; and of older 
persons, more. Every age has, in short, its proportion. 

Thomson. — I have heard something of this before. But how 
does it serve for the business of life-assurance ? 

Jones. — Why, simply thus. Supposing that ten thousand per- 
sons at the age of 52 were disposed to associate for the purpose of 
making sure that the heirs of all those who died within a year 
should have each £1000. It would only be necessary, in that 
case, for each person to contribute as much to a common fund 
as would make up the sum of £150,000, or a thousand times 150; 
that is to say, each of the ten thousand persons would require 
to pay in £15. With a small additional allowance for the ex- 
pense of transacting the business, the resulting sum of £150,000 
would serve to give the representatives of each deceased party 
the desired £1000. This is still so far an ideal case. But 
it is easy to suppose a large number of persons at all ages, 
or at least at certain ages determined on, say between 15 and 
CO, paying into a common fund, each according to his age, and 
the sum he wished secured ; and then we should have a mutual 



LIFE-ASSURANCE. 

assurance society at once ; there being only this additional fea- 
ture, that generally men do not insure for one year only (though 
this is possible), but for the whole remainder of their lives ; for 
which reason an average is struck, and they begin paying at a 
rate which will continue the same to the end, the excess of pay- 
ment in the early years making- up for its smallness in those near 
the close of life. Such being the common practice, life-assurance 
societies necessarily accumulate large funds, which they require 
to improve at interest in safe investments, in order that the most 
postponed engagements may be made good in due time. 

Thomson. — But does not this introduce another element into 
the business 1 The result must be in some degree affected by the 
rate at which you improve the money. 

Jones. — Doubtless ; and I am glad to hear you make the re- 
mark, as it shows you are following me. Besides calculating 
the probable rate of mortality, the conductors of life-assurance 
business must have tolerably certain prospects with regard to 
the interest which they are to obtain for their funds. Suppose 
they can make sure of four per cent, at an average — and this, I 
believe, is below what is usually realised — they have to calculate 
accordingly. A depression of the rate of interest is of course as 
unfavourable to the interests of a life-assurance society, as would 
be a rise in the rate of mortality. 

Thomson. — I can readily imagine all that, without your going 
into details. But are there not different modes of conducting 
life-assurance business, as far as concerns the managing parties ? 

Jones. — Yes. Life-assurance offices are of tw^o leading kinds. 
Sometimes we have a joint-stock company coming forward with 
a large subscribed capital, and professing to undertake risks 
upon lives, looking of course for a profit upon their transactions. 
Other offices are upon the principle of w^hat is called mutual 
assurance ; that is, the parties insuring make of their payments 
a common fund, out of which the heirs of deceased members are 
paid. 

Thomson. — What are the comparative merits of the two plans ? 

Jones. — I shall for the present limit myself to stating* the advan- 
tages attributed to them by their respective supporters. By the 
first plan, the insurer has usually to pay according to rates cal- 
culated merely to allow a profit to the company upon the trans- 
action; that is, the rates are usually moderate. He has also the 
security derived from a subscribed capital and the credit of the 
shareholders. In the second class of offices, the rates are usually 
higher, in order that 'ample scope and verge enough' maybe 
allowed for unfavourable contingencies. But any surplus that 
thus arises belongs to the insuring parties, and is usually em- 
ployed in two ways — first, a portion goes to form a reserve or 
guarantee fund, which may be considered as standing* in much 
the same predicament as the capital of a * company,' though 
seldom so large in amount : second, another, and for the most 



LIFE-ASSURANCE. 

part larsrer portion, is allocated, at intervals of several years, 
among" the members, who may take advantage of it either in the 
form of an addition to the sum ultimately to be realised by them, 
or as a deduction from their future annual payments, or as a 
sum in hand. The 'companies' boast of their system as the 
safer for the insuring- party. The ' societies' set forth that, while 
all desirable security is given by them, they enable insurers to 
do their own business at prime cost, bating only the office ex- 
penses. The mutual offices are few in comparison with the pro- 
prietary ; but they seem to increase at a greater rate. There are 
also some offices in which the two plans are in some measure 
combined. They are generally called ' mixed' offices. 

Thomson. — Can you give me any particulars as to rates and 
surpluses? I sometimes observe offices in their advertisements 
laying great stress upon bonuses. 

Jones. — There are some very remarkable instances of benefit 
thus coming to tHe insured. The Equitable of London is a 
mutual office, dating from 1762. It did a vast amount of business 
at rates formed upon the Northampton tables of mortality, which 
give an unfavourable view of life, and while the state of the 
country was such as to cause accumulated funds to fructify very 
fast. Accordingly, I was not surprised the other day to hear of 
a five thousand pounds policy, commenced about forty-five years 
ago, being ultimately expanded to several times its original 
amount.* Mutual offices, with safe rates, and improving their 
money at not less than four per cent., may, if they exercise care 
in selecting their lives, find no great difficulty in placing a bonus 
of one and a half, or two per cent., per annum, to the policies of 
all insured above a few years, besides throwing something re- 
spectable into the guarantee fund. It must be evident that such 
a system involves a savings' bank besides the business of life- 
assurance. And it will not matter to an insurer that he pays 
liberal rates, if he be satisfied that the extra money will be dis- 
posed of in a way that will turn it to the best account. How- 
ever, there are also mutual offices which proceed upon the 
principle of charging moderate rates, and holding forth less 
temptation in the way of bonus. 

Thomson. — You speak of care in selecting lives. I was not 
quite unaware of this being deemed necessary, for I remember 
my cousin Wetman being refused admission to a life-assurance 
society, because of his being thought to have suffered a little 

* £100, assured in the London Equitable Society in 1816, had become 
£212 in 1840, twenty-four years after the commencement of the poHcy. 
Any one who assured £1000 in 1806, had he died in 1840, would have left 
£3020 to his heirs. Policies eflfeeted in 1796, for £2000, had a bonus or 
addition of £6340 put to them at 31st December 1839, making £8340 in 
all. A policy effected before May 1777, which survived the year 1839, 
had 657 per cent, added, being between six and seven times its original 
amount. 

5 



LIFE-ASSURANCE. 

from over-free living*. But do not tables compxeliend all kinds 
of lives ? 

Jones. — Of course they do ; but it is not on tbat account 
necessary to admit any unhealthy man who seeks, when too late, 
thus to make provision for those in whom he is interested. It is 
necessary, in a society, that all should be presumed as equal in 
point of health ; otherwise they do not start fair. A company, 
again, has its own interest in keeping out men not likely to live 
their full time. There is therefore great pains taken to ascertain 
of any proposing insurer that his health is good. Usually, one 
schedule of queries is sent to his ordinary medical attendant, 
which he is requested to return filled up. Another is sent for 
the same purpose to some private friend whom he may have 
nominated for the purpose. These interrogatories are generally 
with reference to the ordinary state of health of the party, the 
diseases he has had, or is liable to, the health and longevity of 
his relations, particularly parents, and his personal habits. And, 
after all, the proposer is personally examined by a medical officer 
of the company or society, to ascertain as far as possible that 
nothing has been misstated or overlooked by these parties. It 
is but proper to be thus strict, because, if an unhealthy person 
is admitted, an injury so far is done to all the rest of the society. 
There is, however, at least one office in England which gives 
assurances upon invalid lives, charging, of course, premiums 
high in proportion ; and it is quite possible to conduct such a 
business successfully, for there is a law presiding over the de- 
crement of life among invalids, as well as in the bulk of society. 

Thomson. — The lives being, as it were, picked, must, I should 
think, tell upon the funds of the office very materially. 

Jones. — It does. The rates being calculated from tables which 
give safe views even of general life, there is, of course, a greatly 
diminished mortality, and consequently less demand upon the 
funds of the office, when only first-class lives, as they are called, 
are admitted. In one society known to me, the experience of 
mortality during the first twenty j^ears was only 57 per cent, of 
what might have been expected from the mortality tables upon 
which their rates were founded. Consequently, in that office 
large bonuses were given. 

Thomson. — I think I now understand pretty clearly the prin- 
ciples of life-assurance. Would you give me some idea of the 
practical procedure connected with it, and its results ? 

Jones. — With pleasure. I shall suppose that you are thirty 
years of age, and wish to insure five hundred pomids to your 
family in the event of your death. You may effect the assurance 
of this sum in a proprietary office, of sufficient respectability, at 
about £2, 2s. per cent., or i*10, 10s. in all. This is a simply com- 
mercial transaction ; a quid pro quo. The company of course looks 
to make a profit on it, and you look to the realisation of the pre- 
cise sum of five hundred pounds. Suppose you prefer becoming* 

6 



LIFE-ASSURANCE. 

a member of a mutual society, you will pay, in most of the offices 
of that class, a somewhat hig-her rate — rang-ing" from £2, 83, to 
£2, lis. — or about £12, 10s. in all;*" and in that case you will be 
entitled to expect that, should your policy run for ten j^ears, it 
will bear six instead of tive hundred pounds; or you would be 
entitled to have your rate of payment considerably reduced for 
the future. In mutual assurance, there is formally the risk of 
a falling- short of funds, and in that case you might be disap- 
pointed of the full sum you had insured ; but practically, there 
IS no such dangrer; for, when well conducted, the business of 
mutual assurance invariably flourishes ; and there is hardly an 
office of that kind in Britain where you would not be safe from 
everything' but a universal ruin of British credit. In fact, not 
only are safe views of mortality always assumed in such offices, 
but there are so many means of employing* the funds to advan- 
tag-e, that mutual assurance is unlike every other kind of business, 
great prosperity being* the rule, instead of the exception. There 
ai'e some, however, who think the guarantee of a trading* com- 
pany so desirable, that they are willing" to foreg'o ultimate advan- 
tag-es on that account, or to content themselves at least with 
that share of the profits which certain companies agi'ee to give to 
the assured. 

Thomson. — In what form does a private party receive assurance 
of the payment which he bargains for ? 

Joiies. — He receives it in the shape of a bond, on stamped 
paper, usually called a Policy of Assurance, in which the com- 
pany, by its directors, binds itself to make good the sum at the 
decease of the party, provided that decease be not by suicide or 
in a duel, or beyond certain prescribed geog^-aphical limits ; pro- 
vided also that the stipulated pajrments called premium have 
been duly made, and that no untrue averment was made as to 
the state of health and habits of the insured at the date of the 
insurance. The bond of the society, again, binds the several 
members to make good the sum, on the like provisions, but only 
as far as the funds of the body may, at the fail of the policy, be 
sufficient for that purpose. A policy of assurance is usually ob- 
tained on the condition of an annual payment, because this is the 
plan which suits the circumstances of most pei*sons ; but it may 
also be had on the payment of one sum. For instance, a gentle- 
man of ^7 years of age will have an assurance for £1000, with 
prospect of large additions, on paying about £450 at a mutual 
office. In the latter case, the policy is at all times a bank-note 
for at least the sum which was paid for it. But, even when it is 
obtained for annual payments, it soon acquires a certain value. 

* One or two inntiial offices of recent origin have rates somewhat lower, 
and more nearly abreast with those of tlic comiianies, yet still sufHciently 
safe. It may, however, be held as a ground of presumption a;jrainst either 
the honesty or prudence of a sclicme, if it inHures life at tliirty years much 
below X.lf 28. per £100, and other ages in proiK)rtion. 

7 



LIFE-ASSURANCE. 

remainder of life at tlie f-ate m o2.' „ ^f ? f "^^ l"- f^? ^»'- '^e 
maUer. In the proportion of Zi,l ^""f' 7^'"^ '^ ">"* 

any Seb^t he may incur^r asTmea„f fe- '' "' ^'''='"■''y *»^ 
may sell it for a sum ; which howev.T T^lf ?f-f '"'" ' "'• ^^ 

got by mj heirs may be much k?, t W 'i l ' ' ^™'?"' what is 
haps not beine- needed bvthtmfl,? f « P"'^' '''='''^'^'' P^'" 
<i.4 maybe alf wdl^vYdedZ-'ofwi r/hi' ,'T^^ "^^M 
my neio-hbour Jackson occasionally hduVinl^f-T ^^^"^ 

^o««5.— And will you allow vom-<:Blf t„ v„ • _i 

a thoug-htless laug-h? Tal^^ lii alsuL 1 »^'^™ "^''^ ^ 
sion. It is onlv a klnrl 7f i 1* assuiance at its own preten- 

to all. Strict /sneak no. rt'°""'^'- ^""^ ^°'' "°' offer prizes 

given to theTead'^ but Ike ^wl'r"T° P'^" ^" *^ ''^°<^fit^ 

are a young man, you may die tollrro^ St'^^^^ 7'"' 
if you have only iust naiS x-miv -hw -Lue wnen you like, 

P7itif-lpr1 f ^^1^ -^ "^ paia \our first premium, your heirs ar-P 
entitled to the sum assured. You maybe said i in fi.of I 

draw one of the hio-hest xm7P< Al i. o • ^\^^^^ ^^ ^^^t case to 
nothing can be mi?e fdi? '^ ^^^ ^"^^^- ^^^'^ ^'' ^^^^1 ^J^^^ce, 

wrong-. If it is a lottprv it 1 T ij '"'™% ''""k they are 

and even laudable khd^'Tnilo. •?"''? "'^'' ""' °*^ "^ legitimate 

spectable features of humlf nluil' T '" Tf "^ *' "°^.' '■^- 
ag-aiust contirg-ent evils s?d "•'™'^-*oi'esig-Ijt, or a provision 

tlTe succour of^e wTd ^a'd fathaf ss'TtVC'f n ^ " "^^ 
and humane institution Andtu/eW l7^t K ^":'f"t'f / a moral 



LIFE-ASSURANCE. 

done, by a combination of means and a brotherly participation of 
risks. I contemplate life-assurance, not as an interference in. 
any degri-ee with the course of Providence, which some rashly 
assume it to be, but, on the contrary, the taking" advantage of a 
means kindly offered by Providence for our benetit. For, consider 
on what it rests. That regularity in the ratio of mortality'', with- 
out which there could be no liie-assurance, is an institution of 
divine wisdom, as clearly as any other of the great arrangementSr 
ot^ature. When we assume this as a guide for certain conduct, 
not in itself reprehensible, we do no more than when we regulate 
a journey by what we know beforehand of the season and the 
length of the day. If we knew from infallible signs that there 
was to be a failure of grain crops five years hence, would it not 
be quite right to save up corn against that time, and thus equalise 
the evil over a wider surface ? Now, if a thousand persons know 
that a certain number of them will die next year, are they not to- 
be at liberty to act upon that knowledge, and insure each other 
against the calamities that might flow to their families in the 
event of their being" left without sufficient property to protect 
them from the evils of poverty ? I humbly conceive that we are 
called upon, by the most sacred considerations, to adopt such an 
expedient, seeing- that it is attended by no practical evils of any 
kind, but, on the contrary, produces an unmixed good. 

Thomson. — I admit the force of your arguments there ; but it 
just occurs to me that an objection still lies with regard to the 
mercantile view of the subject. Say that I am a young" hale 
man, carrying on a good business w^hich fully employs my capital. 
I am likely to live for twenty years at least, and in that time 
have every reason to expect I shall provide for my family very 
amply. If I take money out of my business to insure upon my 
life, I so far diminish my means of carrying* on business ; and 
my chance of ending with brilliant success is lessened. This I 
feel to be a hardship, and it may even be the worse in the long- 
run for my family. You will see, then, that I have a great temp- 
tation, circumstanced as I am, to abstain from laj^ing out money 
in this way, and rather to keep employing it in business, which 
makes me in the meantime such good returns. 

Jones. — You have stated an objection which, I believe, is ex- 
tremely apt to arise in the minds of men of business, but which 
I equally believe to be ill-founded. The question is simply this 
— are you to trust the comfort of your family to a chance, albeit 
a promising one, or are you not rather to make quite sure of it 
so far ? Why, you speak of life-assurance being a kind of gamble. 
In many circumstances, the keeping out of it is a greater gamble. 
The plan which you propose instead, is like risking everything 
you have in the world upon a single throw of the dice, for the 
sake of a possible great gain, in which you may be disappointed. 
Resorting to life-assurance, on the other hand, is like simple 
trade, where little is risked, and a moderate but certain profit 

9 



LIFE-ASSUBANCE. 

secured. It seems to me the only rational, and, considering the 
interests concerned, conscientious course, while you are trusting' 
most of your means to the risks of trade, to set apart a portion, 
on which you may rely at all hazards, for the benefit of jouv 
family, should you be unexpectedly taken from them. The stock 
in trade of even prosperous men often turns out of little value 
when they are removed from the head of their business. This 
is what all are exposed to while we continue mortal : not even the 
healthiest man can say for certain he is ever to be in his shop or 
counting-house again. Now, is it not a gratifying reflection to 
a person in such circumstances, that, though the stroke come 
to-morrow, and make the value of his stock and trade ever so 
doubtful, there is at least one clear certain sum to accrue to those 
about whose welfare he is most anxious — something which they 
cannot be deprived of, so that he only die in solvent circum- 
stances. To me, at least, with the element of caution pretty 
strong in my constitution — though not stronger, I daresay, than 
is necessary in this trying world — it seems so indispensable thus 
to have a something certain for my wife and children to look to, 
that I feel as if I could not have a minute's comfort at any time, 
if I were trusting their future comfort wholly to the chance of 
how my business might turn out after my death. 

Thomson. — May I ask if you have known many instances of 
life policies proving a stay, where other means that had been 
chiefly trusted to failed ? 

Jones. — I could relate several cases in point, and I therefore 
believe they must be frequent. Speaking generally, my expe- 
rience says that, of all the possessions of mercantile men, there 
is none more stable, none more to be depended on, than sums 
secured upon life. 

Thomson. — It will of course sometimes happen that individuals 
benefit in a remarkable degree by life-assurance, seeing that 
their death may take place at any hour after having effected 
their policies. 

Jones. — It does ; and I could tell you several remarkable anec- 
dotes of that kind. An instance of death during the week follow- 
ing the payment of the first premium once occurred in Edinburgh. 
In the records of one particular office, I have found a consider- 
able number of cases in which only one premium was paid. I 
find, for instance, £500 realised after the policy had run 262 
days; £800 after 330 days; £600 after 206 days; £500 after 
only 74 days ; £1000 after four months ; and so forth. A few 
years ago, there occurred one particular case of a very striking 
nature. An industrious man, engaged in flax-spinning, and who 
had sunk most of what he possessed in a concern of that nature, 
insured £500 in the month of February, for which the usual 
comparatively small sum was paid by way of premium ; in the 
ensuing April, not satisfied with the first sum, he insured £500 
more. Next month, after the second policy had run only twenty- 

10 



LIFE-ASSURANCE. 

two days, he died in consequence of a severe injury from his own 
machinery. Thus his family obtained the welcome sum of £1000 
to help them on in the world — a sum which they could not have 
had, if their parent's death had taken place three months sooner ! 
Such incidents serve to place the value of life-assurance in a veiy 
striking: lig-ht. We see, indeed, in this institution, one of the 
grand differences between a barbarous age and one of hig-h civi- 
lisation. Long" ago, the condition of the widow and the father- 
less, in all departments of society, was generally very deplorable, 
for they were in most instances dependent on mere charity. 
Now, by a present expenditure of no great magnitude on the 
part of the father of a family, he may secure them against that 
wretched state of dependence in the event of his death, happen 
when it may. Men who are indisposed to make this little sacri- 
fice, talk of leaving their little ones to a kind Providence, in the 
certainty that they will not want. This is, in reality, to shift their 
own burden upon the shoulders of other people. He, on the other 
hand, who sacrifices some of his present comfort to secure the 
independency of his little ones, is manifesting, it appears to me, 
an equally implicit, and far more rational trust in Providence, in 
as far as the arrangements of life-assurance depend thereon, while 
he is acting a more heroic and spirited part merely as a man. 

Thovison. — What you say is very convincing, and I no longer 
see any occasion to hesitate before effecting- a policy for the 
benefit of Susan and the young- ones. There is only one other 
point I wish to have explained. I see that most insurance offices 
offer to grant annuities to applicants. Is that on the same prin- 
ciple as insurance for sums to be paid at decease ? 

Jones. — The granting of annuities is a distinct branch of in- 
surance office business, and is conducted on the same principles 
as to probability of length of days as the branch we have been 
talking of. Insurance for annuities is chiefly adapted to persons 
who can sink a certain sum at once in exchange for a certain 
sum annually — this last being much more than they could realise 
by any process of lending the principal. The amount of the 
annual sum or annuity depends of course on the ag-e of the in- 
surer. An old person will get a much larger return than a 
young one. Men retiring from business with a moderate sum, 
and who have no immediate relatives depending on them, find 
this species of insurance exceedingly suitable. But the plan 
of annuities is very various, and may be applied to many kinds 
of cases. A man may buy an annuity for himself, or for him- 
self and wife jointly; or he may sink money for an annuity to 
his widow ; or he may begin paying a sum annually, to cease 
in a certain number of years, and then his annuity is to com- 
mence — such being- called deferred annuities ; or he may arrange 
that, in the event of his death, his young children shall have an 
annuity till they are of age; and so on. 

Thomson. — Now that you put me in mind of it, I have heai'd 

11 



LIFE-ASSURANCE. 

it said jocularly, that people who insure for annuities generally 
live long-er than those who don't. Surely that must be nonsense. 

Jones. — I am not sure that such an idea is altog-ether visionary. 
People whose lives are insui*ed for annuities, may be supposed to 
feel considerably at their ease. They are not troubled with those 
cankering- cares which distract men in busy life. They are left 
to enjoy their old age undisturbed. Seeking the ' chimney-nook 
of ease,' they tranquilly spend their declining years ; and, finally, 
with life drawn out to its utmost span, they sink quietly to their 
rest. 

Thomson. — Now that I know something of insurance, and am 
determined on effecting a policy, my only concern is to know int 
what kind of office I ought to transact the business. Can you 
give me any direction on this point ? 

Jones. — It might be invidious to speak of particular offices as 
preferable to others. But I can give you some general direc- 
tions, which may be of service to you. You must understand 
that life-assurance, like every other kind of business, is liable to 
have more or less sordid views connected with it ; and instances 
are sometimes known of business being conducted on an unsound 
footing, either through erroneous calculations, or with a view to 
the immediate benefit of certain adventurers concerned. Gene- 
rally, however, the British offices, whether proprietary or mutual, 
are conducted in a way that promises perfect security to the 
assured. You have heard me describe the opposite advantages 
arrogated for the proprietary and mutual systems by their vari- 
ous patrons. I am not disposed to go deep into that question ; 
but I may state, as my own mature opinion, that mutual assur- 
ance gives all desirable security, while it must make, in general, 
greater returns to the assured. There is something in the object 
of life-assurance so sacred in my estimation, that I dislike seeing 
common commercial interests mixing themselves up with it. 
Were such aid necessary, it would of course be right to have 
recourse to it ; but experience, I think, shows that it is not 
wanted. Let men unite as brethren of one kind in this holy 
duty of insuring each other against one of the greatest of cala- 
mities, that of leaving a family in indigence ; and let whatever 
surpluses may accrue from a successful management of the busi- 
ness be divided among those alone whose benefit was primarily 
contemplated. There is, I believe, a growing conviction in 
favour of the mutual system, and hence we see offices of that 
kind multiplying faster than the others, while companies are every 
day mixing up more and more of the surplus-dividing system 
with their own, granting policies at certain rates, with what they 
call ' participation of profits.' Indeed, so strong is this move- 
ment, that pure companies, especially those with high rates, 
could not now maintain their ground any longer, if they did 
not resort to an expedient which I am sorry to characterise as» 
immoral. They give commission to any one, whether a man of 

12 



LIFE-ASSURANCE. 

business or a private person, who bnng's them customers ; thus 
inducing" individuals in trust to recommend their clients to par- 
ticular offices, where, perhaps, they will pay more and receive 
less than elsewhere. Ig-norant as most persons are of life-assur- 
ance, and unable to discriminate for themselves between the 
claims of contending- systems, they are naturally disposed to 
listen to the counsels of a friend or legal agent on the subject; 
but behold, where they expect true intelligence and sound 
advice, they confer with a party who is secretly under the 
temptation of a bribe — for such it is — to give them the reverse ; 
and it often happens, accordingly, that they are taken unsus- 
pectinsrly to an office which gives their children, some years 
after, Jiardly three-fourths or two-thirds of the sum which they 
would realise in other quarters for the same outlay. Seeing 
such results, I cannot but condemn the system as one disg-race- 
ful to all parties resorting- to or profiting- by it. And one strong 
reason with me for preferring- the mutual offices is, that, with 
hardly an exception, they reject this mode of obtaining: business. 

Thomson. — I really feel surprised that such a practice should 
exist in an ag-e like the present. Why, it reduces educated men 
to a level with cooks and butlers taking fees from tradesmen for 
their masters' custom. I shall of course avoid connecting- myself 
with any office which acts in a way so directly contrary to g-ood 
morals. But, to pass from this subject, I should like to know 
if life-assurance is taken advantag-e of by any larg-e portion of 
the community. To speak the truth, althoug-h the advertise- 
ments of the various offices are seen everywhere, I hear of few 
persons who have taken out policies of life-assurance. And, for 
my own part, I never till now had any clear idea of what life- 
assurance meant, or what it could do. 

Jones. — I thoroughly believe you. The subject is extremely 
little understood by the public at large, and as yet, according-ly, 
its advantages exist in vain for the great mass. " So lately as the 
year 1839, there were only 80,000 policies of life-assurance in the 
United King-dom, many of which must have been transactions 
entered into, not for the benefit of families, but in connexion 
with money-raising- and security. We mig-ht therefore presume 
that hardly one head of a family in a hundred had any money 
assured upon his life. This g-ives a distressing- view of th.e im- 
providence of men with respect to their families; but I am happy 
to think that the blessinr/s of life-assurance, as I may well call 
them, are rapidly extending-. One fact clearly shows this; 
namely, that into Scottish offices alone, and they are but a 
handful compared with the rest, no less than a million sterling is 
poured everj' year. Such a large subtraction from the current 
enjoyments of the population, for the supply of needs yet in the 
remote future, speaks strongly, not merely for the increasing 
wealth, but the improving civilisation of our country. It is to 
be greatly wished that the benefit should spread further down in 

13 



LIFE-ASSURANCE. 

society. As yet, it is almost confined to the upper and middle 
ranks ; but there is no reason why a respectable artisan or small 
tradesman should not have his family assured against the cala- 
mity of his early death as well as his richer neighbours. 

Thomson. — Certainly not. But do the ordinary insui'ance offices 
accommodate working* men ? 

Jones. — They do. I believe most, if not all of tbem, grant 
policies for £50. However, there is a class of insurance asso- 
ciations more peculiarly adapted to the wants of artisans and 
others with slender means, to which they can very easily resort. 

Thomson. — I suppose you allude to what are called benefit 
clubs, or friendly societies. From what I have heard of most of 
these concerns, I should not willingly recommend any man to 
trust his money in their hands. 

Jones. — That is too sweeping a condemnation. There are, no 
doubt, many got up on erroneous principles, and perhaps some 
are conducted by designing individuals for their own ends ; but 
there are likewise several established and managed on principles 
as sound as those of respectable insurance companies. 

Thomson. — Name one of these if you please, and let me know 
something of its details. I take an interest in everything bearing 
on the welfare of the working-classes. 

Jones. — The one I happen to be best acquainted with is the 
Edinburgh School of Arts' Friendly Society, established about six- 
teen years ago. This society, although originating with certain 
of the members of and friends to the School of Arts (a species of 
mechanics' institution), and taking its name, is not otherwise 
connected with that institution, but is open to all persons, male 
and female, residing in Edinburgh. It has three separate funds 
or schemes — namely, a Sickness Fund^ Deferred Annuity Fundy 
and a lAfe- Assurance Fund. One share of the sickness fund 
entitles the member during sickness to 10s. a-week for 52 weeks, 
7s. 6d. a-week for other 52 weeks, and 5s. a-week for all future 
period of sickness until the age of 60 or 65, according to the age 
of superannuation fixed at entry; thereafter, his contributions 
cease, and he enters to the enjoyment of the Deferred Annuity 
Fund, one share of which entitles the member to an annuity of 
L.8 a-year, commencing at the age of 60 or 65, as fixed at his 
entry." One share of the Life-Assurance Fund is a sum of L.IO 
payable at the member's death. In this case, as in others, the 
contributions cease at the age of 60 or 65. The rates are calculated 
from the Highland Society's sickness table, increased by 50 per 
cent., which in this case may be considered as sufficient (seeing 
that only sound healthy men are admitted), and a mortality table' 
compounded of the Northampton, Carlisle, and Swedish, assuming 
the rate of interest at 4 per cent., accumulated yearly ; and the 
only charges for management are 2s. 6d. entry money to each 
fund, and Is. a-year payable by each member of each fund. The 
life-assurance fund of this society stands apart from the other 

14 



iife-assuhance. 



two, and may be entered independently; if, however, you wish 
to know the scale of contributions, you must study the society 3^ 
tables. I shall only here mention a sing'le case by way of example. 
In order, then, that a member's heirs shall be entitled to draw 
L 10 at his death, he pavs in one sum, when 25 years of a^e, 
L 3 4s. 7 id, or, instead of one sum, 3s. 9H- annually, or Is. O^d. 
the tirst month, and 3d. every other month— contributions to cease 
at 65. Payments, beginning' at other ages are in proportion. I need 
say no more of this class of societies, except that I wish they 
were extended to every large town in the empire. From what I 
have stated, you will observe that operatives as well as others 
mav now insure their lives on safe principles. And surely it 
would be delightful to hear of such persons regularly spending 
a pound or two per annum, or a few pence weekly, in securing 
to their widows and children what would place them above 
everything like immediate want. 

Thomso7i.—^y ould you prefer seeing men eflPecting an msurance 
to laying aside money in a bank 1 

Jones.— I do not think the two things should be brought into 
comparison, because each is right in its way. I would, however^^ 
repeat, that the tirst duty of every man is to provide to the best ot 
his ability for his wife and family in the event of his death, and 
the most convenient way of doing so is to effect an insurance on 
his life. At the same time, I do not imagine that this is incom- 
patible with other economical practices. Let every man save as 
much as he can by all means— the operative resorting to his 
savings' bank, and those with larger means at disposal seeking 
all proper investments for the surplus gains of their labour. In 
point of fact, I believe it will be found that the man who insures 
his life is the first to save otherwise. The very easy way in which 
insurance can be effected enables a person to economise. Instead 
of struo-o'lino" to lay past a large sum, small instalments at dis- 
tant intervals suffice, thus enabling him to put aside whatever 
other sums he may chance to have at his disposal. 

Thomson. — Well, I believe that life-insurance does not neces- 
sarily prevent other means of economising, even as regards work- 
ing-men in good employment; and 1 shall recommend some 
artisans whom I happen to know to join either an insurance- 
office, or a friendly society such as you mention. 

Joiies. — Do so ; but do not confine your advices to them. Try 
to influence every person to insure, whatever be his station. In- 
deed, till this practice becomes the rule amongst men of all 
classes, instead of being, as now, the rare exception, I can- 
not believe that we have attained such a point in civilisa- 
tion as we have any title to boast of. For what is the pre- 
dicament of that man who, for the gratification of his affections, 
surrounds himself with a wife and children, and peaceably 
lives in the enjoyment of these precious blessings, with the 
knowled«:e that, ere three moments at any time shall have 

° 15 



LIFE-ASSURANCE. 

passed, the cessation of his existence may throw wife and chil- 
dren tog-ether into a state of destitution ? I hold it to be the 
duty of every man to provide, while he yet lives, for his own : I 
would say that it is not more his duty to provide for their 
daily bread during his life, than it is to provide, as far as he can, 
ag-ainst their being left penniless in the event of his death. In- 
deed, between these two duties there is no essential distinction, 
for life-assurance makes the one as much a matter of current 
•expenditure as the other. One part of his income can now be 
devoted by a head of a family to the necessities of the present; 
another may be stored up, by means of life-assurance, to provide 
against the future. And thus he may be said to do the whole of 
his duty towards his family, instead of, as is generally the case, 
only doing' the half of it. Men are only comparatively indiiFerent 
on this subject, because there has as yet been but a brief experi- 
ence of a system for redeeming widows and orphans from poverty. 
When life-assurance is as universally understood and practised 
as it ought to be, he who has not made such a provision, or 
•something equivalent, for the possibility of his death, will, I 
verily trust, be looked on as a not less detestable wretch than he 
who will not work for his children's bread ; and his memory 
after death will be held in not less contempt. 

[Jones and Thomson bid each other good-hy, and separaie, Thomson 
resolving not to go home till he has called at an office to Jill vp a 
proposal /or an assurance upon his life.'\ 

NOTE. 

The assurance principle has •within the last few years been applied, with 
the prospect of success, to the guaranteeing of fidelity in persons holding 
situations of trust. In this case the calculation is, that out of a large 
range of instances where individuals of good moral character are in- 
trusted with sums belonging to their employers, a nearly regular amount 
of defalcation wiU take place annually, or within some other larger space 
of time. This may give an unpleasant view of human nature, but it is 
found to be a true one, and the question which arises with men of busi- 
ness is, by what means may the defalcation be best guarded against. The 
choice is between a guarantee from one or two persons, and from a trading 
company. By the former plan, the risk is concentrated upon one or two, 
who may be deeply injured in consequence : by the other plan, the risk is 
not merely diffused, it is extinguished, for the premiums paid by the insur- 
ing parties stand for the losses, besides affording a profit upon the business. 
Nor have we only thus a protection for private parties against the dangers 
of security ; but individuals, who have the offer of situations on the condi- 
tion of giving a sufficient guarantee, may now be able to take, where 
formerly they would have had to decline them, seeing that they might have 
failed to induce any friend to venture so far in their behalf. Practically, 
it has also been found that, so far from parties being more ready to give 
•way to temptation when they know that the loss will fall upon a company, 
they are less so, seeing that the company exercises a more rigid supervi- 
sion, and presents a sterner front to delinquents, than is the case with 
private securities in general. Guarantee companies are now established 
in London, Edinburgh, Glasgow, and other large cities ; and as they 
serve a useful purpose, and rather support than deteriorate individual 
imorality, we cordially trust that they will go on and prosper.— Ed. 





EXCURSION TO THE OREGON. 

s^ HE continent of North America is about three thou- 
'J sand miles across, from the Atlantic on the east to the 
Pacific on the west ; and, after an interval of three 
i^j^ centuries since the discovery and settlement of the 
country, the civilised races, who are chiefly of Eng-lish 
oi'ig-in, have not generally penetrated with their possessions 
^p^ above a third of the entire breadth. The progress of en- 
*J) croachment in the western wilderness, however, is now ex- 
ceedingly rapid. Since the deliverance of the New England and 
other states from British control, the Anglo-Americans have 
evinced a singularly energetic spirit of migration towards what 
was, seventy years ago, an almost unknown land. Crossing the 
Alleghany range of mountains, from the Atlantic or old settled 
states, they have taken possession of the valley of the Mississippi, 
a tract as large as all Europe ; and approaching the head waters 
of the Missouri and other tributaries of the Mississippi, appear 
prepared to cross the Rocky Mountains — " the Great Backbone 
of America," as they have not unaptly been called — and take pos- 
session of the Oregon country, lying on the shores of the Pacific. 
This extension of the boundaries of civilisation over a countiy 
iiitherto abandoned to roaming tribes of Indians, and herds of 
wild animals, is at present one of the most remarkable facts in 
social history. Since the beginning of the present century, the 
population of the United States has increiised from four millions 
to twenty millions ; and following the same rate of increase, in. 
less than a century hence the population will have increased to 
upwards of a hundred and fifty millions — all speaking the Eng- 
No. 45. 1 



EXCURSION TO THE OREGON. 

lish languag-e, and possessing- institutions resembling our own. 
Yet, although the extension of the Anglo-American settlements 
he comparatively rapid, it is not eifected without numerous diffi- 
culties. Those who first penetrate into the wilderness are usu- 
ally parties of fur traders ; and by these hardy pioneers, and the 
volunteer travellers who accompany them, the way maj^ be said 
to be in some measure paved for the more formal visits of sur- 
veyors, and the new occupants of the country. The journeys of 
these pioneering parties are attended with many dang-ers. The 
setting out of an expedition resembles a caravan of pilgrims 
sallying* forth across the African deserts ; civilisation is for 
months, perhaps for years, left behind ; no vestige of house or 
road is seen on the apparently interminable wastes ; journeying 
is performed only on horseback during the day, while repose is 
enjoyed in tents pitched for the night ; a constant outlook must 
be kept for prowling wild beasts, or the not less stealthy steps 
of the Pawnee Loup Indian : in short, all is wild nature, roman- 
tic enough perhaps to untamed minds, but as we can imagine 
altogether unendurable by persons accustomed to the quiet 
and orderly life of cities. Strange as it seems, however, there 
are highly cultivated individuals who, inspired by a love of 
science, or for the mere sake of sport, voluntarily make part of 
the fur-trading bands, and consent to remain for years from 
home, friends, and the world of refinement. 

Believing that the account of one of these romantic expedi- 
tions cannot but be acceptable to our readers, we offer in the 
present sheet the history of an excursion performed a few years 
ago by Mr ToAvnsend, an enthusiastic ornithologist, and his 
friend Professor Nuttall, of Howard university, an equally zealous 
botanist.* Being desirous of increasing the existing stock of 
knowledge in the departments of science to which they were 
respectively attached, these gentlemen agreed to accompany a 
body of traders, commanded by a Captain Wyeth, to the Colum- 
bia river and adjacent parts. The traders belonged to an asso- 
ciation called the Columbia River Fishing and Trading Company, 
and on this occasion they designed to fix a permanent branch- 
establishment in the west. 

On the evening of the 24th of March 1834, the two friends 
arrived in a steamboat at St Louis, on the Missouri, from Pitts- 
burg. At St Louis, which is the last great town within the 
settlements, they furnished themselves with several pairs of 
leathern pantaloons, enormous overcoats, and white wool hats 
with round crowns, fitting tightly to the head, and almost hard 
enough to resist a musket ball. Leaving their baggage to come 
on with the steamer, about three hundred miles farther up the 

* Wc draw the materials for our account from " An Excursion to the 
Rocky Mountains, by J. K. Townscnd ;" a work published at Philadelpliia 
in 1839. 
2 



EXCURSION TO THE OREGON. 

Missouri, Mr Townsend and his friend set off to amuse them- 
selves by walking" and hunting* leisurely throug'li that distance, 
which is composed chiefly of wide flat prairies, with few and 
remotely situated habitations of the frontier settlers. 

One of the tirst indications of their approach to a wild country 
was the spectacle of a band of Indians of the Saque tribe, who 
were removing- to new settlements. The men were fantastically 
painted, and the chief was distinguished by a profuse display of 
trinkets, and a huge necklace made of the claws of the g-rizzly 
bear. The decorations of one of the women amused the two 
travellers. She was an old squaw, to whom was presented a 
broken umbrella. The only use she made of this prize was to 
wrench the plated ends from the whalebones, string them on a 
piece of wire, take her knife from her belt, with which she deli- 
berately cut a slit of an inch in length along' the upper rim of 
her ear, and insert them in it. The sight was as shocking* to the 
feelings as it was gTotesque ; for the cheeks of the vain being 
were covered with blood as she stood with fancied dig-nity in the 
midst of twenty others, who evidently envied her the possession 
of the worthless baubles. 

While pushing forward on the borders of the wilderness, the 
travellers one day arrived at the house of a kind of gentleman- 
settler, who, with his three daug-hters, vied in showing kind- 
ness to their visitors. " The girls," says Mr Townsend, " were 
very superior to most that I had seen in Missouri, although 
somewhat touched with the awkward bashfulness and prudery 
which generally characterise the prairie maidens. They had 
lost their mother when young, and having no comjoanions out 
of the domestic circle, and consequently no opportunity of 
aping the manners of the world, were perfect children of na- 
ture. Their father, however, had given them a good plain 
education, and they had made some proficiency in n'eedlework, 
as was evinced by numerous neatly-worked samplers hanging in 
wooden frames round the room." Some little curiosity and 
astonishment was excited in the minds of the unsophisticated 
girls when they were informed that their two guests were under- 
taking a long and difficult journey across the prairies — one of 
them for the purpose of shooting and stuffing birds, the other for 
the purpose of obtaining plants to preserve between leaves of 
paper; but at last they began to perceive that probably there 
was some hidden utility in these seemingly idle pursuits ; and 

the last words of the eldest Miss P to our ornithologist at 

parting were, " Do come again, and come in May or June, for 
then there are plenty of prairie-hens, and you can shoot as many 
as you want, and you must stay a long while with us, and we'll 
have nice times. Good-by ; Pm so sorry you're going." Miss 

P , in promising an abundance of prairie-hens, eviclently did 

not perceive in what respect an ornithologist difl"ered from a 
sportsman ; but her invitation was kindly meant ; and Mr 

3 



EXCURSION TO THE OREGOISr. 

Townsend promised, that if ever lie visited Missouri again, lie 
would go a good many miles out of liis way to see her and her 
sisters. The next resting-place which our traveller describes, was 

very different from Mr P 's comfortable and cheerful house. 

It was a liotelj for which a pigstj^ would have been a more appro- 
priate name. Everything and everybody were dirty, disobliging, 
and disagreeable ; and after staying one night, the travellers 
refusing the landlord's invitation to liquorise with him, departed 
without waiting' for breakfast. 

In the case of our travellers, however, one of the last impres- 
sions left upon them before fairly entering the wilderness was of 
a more agreeable and suitable description. " In about an hour 
and a hali^' says Mr Townsend, " we arrived at Fulton, a pretty 
little town, and saw the villagers in their holiday clothes parad- 
ing along to church. The bell at that moment sounded, and the 
peal gave rise to many reflections. It might be long ere I should 
hear the sound of the ' church-going bell' again. I was on my 
way to a far, far country, and I did not know that I should ever 
"be permitted to revisit my own. I felt that I was leaving the 
scenes of my childhood — the spot which had witnessed all the 
happiness I ever knew, the home where all my affections were 
centered. I was entering a land of strangers, and would be 
compelled hereafter to mingle with those who might look upon 
me with indifference, or treat me with neglect." 

The travellers, tired of their long journey on foot, waited at a 
small village on the Missouri till their companions and baggag-e 
should come uj). The steamer arrived on the 9th of April, and 
the two pedestrians having gone on board, it was soon puffing 
up the river at the rate of seven miles an hour. In four days 
they reached the small town of Independence, the outermost 
Anglo- American post, and disembarking, they began to prepare 
for their long and venturesome journey. Mr Townsend here 
introduces a description of the company, about fifty in all. 

There were among'st the men, to compose the caravan, a g'reat 
variety of dispositions. Some, who had not been accustomed to 
the kind of life they were to lead, looked forward to it with 
eager delight, and talked of stirring incidents and hairbreadth 
escapes. Others, who were more experienced, seemed to be as 
easy and unconcerned about it as a citizen would be in contem- 
plating a drive of a few miles into the country. Some were 
evidently reared in the shade, and not accustomed to hardships ; 
many were almost as rough as the grizzly bear, and not a little 
proud of their feats, of which they were fond of boasting ; but 
the majority were strong able-bodied men. During- the day, the 
captain kept all his men employed in arranging and packing a vast 
variety of goods for carriage. In addition to the necessary clothing* 
for the company, arms, ammunition, &c. there were thousands of 
trinkets of various kinds, beads, paint, bells, rings, and such like 
trumpery, intended as presents for the Indians, as well as objects 

4 



EXCURSION TO THE OREGON. 

of trade with them. The bales were usually made to weig-h 
about eighty pounds, of which a horse was to carry two. Cap- 
tain Wyeth insured the good-will and obedience of the men by 
his affable but firm manner, and showed himself every way suit- 
able for his very important mission. In the company there 
were also live missionaries, the principal of whom, Mr Jason 
Lee, was " a tall and powerful man, who looked as though he 
were well calculated to buffet difficulties in a wild country." 
Before setting out, they were joined also by Mr Milton Sublette, 
a trader and trapper of several years' standing, who intended to 
travel a part of the way with them. Mr Sublette brought with 
him about twent}' trained hunters, " true as the steel of their 
tried blades," who had more than once gone over the very track 
which the caravan intended to pursue — a reinforcement which 
was very welcome to Captain Wyeth and his party. 

THE CARAVAN SETS OUT. 

On the 28th of April, at ten o'clock in the morning/ all things 
being prepared, the caravan, consisting of seventy men and two 
hundred and lifty horses, began its march towards the west. 
All were in high spirits, and full of hope of adventure ; up- 
roarious bursts of merriment, and gay and lively songs, con- 
stantly echoed along the line of the cavalcade. The road lay 
over a vast rolling prairie, with occasional small spots of timber 
at the distance of several miles apart, and this was expected to 
be the complexion of the track for some weeks. For the first 
day and night the journey was agreeable, but on the second day 
a heavy rain fell, which made the ground wet and muddy, soaked 
the blanket bedding, and rendered camping at night anything 
but pleasant. The description given of a nightly camp is in- 
teresting : — "The party is divided into messes of eight men, and 
each mess is allowed a separate tent. The captain of a mess 
(who is generally an ' old hand') receives each morning rations 
of pork, flour, &c. for his people, and they choose one of their 
body as cook for the whole. Our camp now consists of nine 
messes, of which Captain "VVyeth's forms one, although it con- 
tains only four persons besides the cook. When we arrive in the 
evening at a suitable spot for encampment, Captain Wyeth rides 
round a space which he considers large enough to accommodate 
it, and directs where each mess shall pitch its tent. The men 
immediately unload their horses, and place their bales of <i-oods 
in the direction indicated, and in such manner as, in case of 
need, to form a sort of fortification and defence. When all the 
messes are arranged in this way, the camp forms a hollow square, 
in the centre of which the horses are placed and staked lirmly 
to the ground. The guard consists of from six to eight men, 
is relieved three times eacli night, and so arranged that each 
^ang mav serve alternate nights. The captain of a guard (who 
is generally also the captain of a mess) collects his people at the 

5 



EXCURSION TO THE OREGON. 

appointed hour, and posts them around outside the camp in such 
situations that they may command a view of the environs, and 
he ready to give the alarm in case of danger. The^captain cries 
the hour regularly by a watch, and aWs well, every fifteen 
minutes, and each man of the guard is required to repeat this 
call in rotation, which if any one should fail to do, it is fair to 
conclude that he is asleep, and he is then immediately visited 
and stirred up. In case of defection of this kind, our laws ad- 
judge to the delinquent the hard sentence of walking three days. 
As yet, none of our poor fellows have incurred this penalty, and 
the probability is, that it would not at this time be enforced, as 
we are yet in a country where little molestation is to be appre- 
hended ; but in the course of another week's travel, when thiev- 
ing and ill-designing Indians will be out, lying on our trail, it 
will be necessary that the strictest watch be kept ; and for the 
preservation of our persons and propert}^, that our laTs^s shall be 
rigidly enforced." 

For about a fortnight the caravan jDroceeded without any very 
remarkable incident occurring. The cook of the mess to which 
Mr Townsend belonged decamped one night, having no doubt 
become tired of the expedition, and determined to go back to the 
settlements. The man himself was little missed; but he had 
taken a rifle, powder-horn, and shot-pouch along with him, 
and these articles were precious. In a few days after, three other 
men deserted, likewise carrying rifles with them. In the course 
of the fortnight the caravan passed through several villages of 
the Kaw Indians, with whom they traded a little, giving' bacon 
and tobacco in exchange for hides. These Indians do not appear, 
on the whole, to have been very favourable specimens of the 
American aborigines. The men had many of them fine counte- 
nances, but the women were very homely. The following is a 
description of one of their chiefs : — " In the evening the principal 
Kanzas chief paid us a visit in our tent. He is a young man about 
twenty-five years of age, straig'ht as a jDoplar, and with a noble 
countenance and bearing, but he appeared to me to be marvel- 
lously deficient in most of the requisites which go to make the 
character of a real Indian chief, at least of such Indian chiefs as 
we read of in our popular books. I begin to suspect, in truth, 
that these lofty and dignified attributes are more apt to exist in 
the fertile brain of the novelist than in reality. Be this as it may, 
our chief is a very lively, laughing, and rather playful personage; 
perhaps he may put on his dignity, like a glove, when it suits 
his convenience." 

On the 8th of May the party had a misfortune in the loss of 
Mr Milton Sublette, who, owing- to a fungus in one of his legs, 
was obliged to return to the settlements. On the afternoon 
of next day, the party crossed a broad Indian trail, bearing 
northerh^, supposed to be about five days old, and to have been 
made by a war-party of Pawnees. Hoping to escape these for- 

6 



JEXCURSION TO THE OREGON. 

4iiiclable enemies of the white man, the party pushed on, but not 
Avithout occasional mishaps ; at one time the horses ran away, and 
liad to be chased for a Avhole nig-ht, and even when the labour of 
the chase was over, three were irrecoverably lost ; at another time 
half of the party were drenched crossing- a wide creek full of 
black mud, which the men had to flounder throug-h on horse- 
back. The weather, too, was becoming- intolerably warm. They 
had frequently been favoured with fresh breezes, which made it 
•very ag-reeable ; but the moment these failed, they were almost 
•suffocated with intense heat. Their rate of travelling was about 
twenty miles per day, which in this warm weather, and with 
heavily burdened horses, was as much as could be accomplished 
with comfort to the travellers and their animals. 

The g'eneral aspect, however, of the country throug-h which 
the}' were travelling', was exceedingly beautiful. "The little 
streams are fringed with a thick growth of pretty trees and 
bushes, and the buds are now swelling, and the leaves expanding, 
to ' welcome back the spring.' The birds, too, sing joyously 
amongst them — grosbeaks, thrushes, and bunting's — a merry and 
musical band. I am particularly fond of sallying out early in 
the morning, and strolling around the camp. The light breeze 
just bends the tall toj)s of the grass on the boundless prairie, the 
birds are commencing their matin caroUings, and all nature looks 
fresh and beautiful. The horses of the camp are lying comfort- 
ably on their sides, and seem, by the glances which they give 
me in passing, to know that their hour of toil is approaching, 
and the patient kine are ruminating in happy unconsciousness." 

One morning the scouts came in with the intelligence that they 
had found a large trail of white men bearing north-west. Cap- 
tain Wyeth and his party concluded that this was another cara- 
van belonging to a rival trading company, and that it had passed 
them noiselessly in the course of the night, in order to be before- 
hand with them in traffic with the Indian tribes through which 
they were passing'. The party grumbled a little at the unfriendly 
conduct of the rival caravan in stealing a march upon them ; but 
consoled themselves by making the reflection, that competition is 
the soul of commerce, and that, in the same circumstances, they 
would in all probability have acted in the same way. While dis- 
cussing the aflair at breakfast, three Indians, of a tribe called the 
Ottos, made their appearance. These visitors were suspected of 
being concerned in the loss of the three horses mentioned above ; 
but as the crime could not be brought home to them by any kind 
of evidence, they were received in a friendly manner ; and, as 
usual, the pipe of peace was smoked with them. 

" While these people," says Mr Townsend, " were smoking the 
pipe of peace with us after breakfast, I observed that Richard- 
son, our chief hunter (an experienced man in this country, of 
a tall and iron frame, and almost child-like simplicity of cha- 
racter, in fact, an exact counterpart of Plawk-eye in his younger 

7 



EXCURSION TO THE OREGON. 

days), stood aloof, and refused to sit in the circle, in which it 
■vvas always the custom of the old hands to join. 

Feeling" some curiosity to ascertain the cause of this unusual 
diffidence, I occasionally allowed my eyes to wander to the spot 
where our sturdy hunter stood looking* moodily upon us, as the 
calamet passed from hand to hand around the circle, and I 
thoug'ht I perceived him now and then cast a furtive glance au 
one of the Indians who sat opposite to me, and sometimes his 
countenance would assume an expression almost demoniacal, as 
though the most fierce and deadly passions were raging in his 
bosom. I felt certain that hereby hung a tale, and I watched 
for a corresponding expression, or at least a look of consciousness., 
in the face of my opposite neighbour ; but expression there Avas 
none. His large features were settled in a tranquillity which 
nothing could disturb, and as he puffed the smoke in huge volumes 
from his mouth, and the fragrant vapour wreathed and curled 
around his head, he seemed the embodied spirit of meekness and 
taciturnity. 

The camp moved soon after, and I lost no time in overhauling 
Richardson, and asking an explanation of his singular conduct. 
* Why,' said he, ' that Injen that sat opposite to you is my bitterest 
enemy. I was once going down alone from the rendezvous with 
letters for St Louis, and when I arrived on the lower part of the 
Platte river — ;just a short distance beyond us here — I fell in 
with about a dozen Ottos. They were known to be a friendly 
tribe, and I therefore felt no fear of them. I dismounted from my 
horse, and sat with them upon the ground. It was in the depth 
of winter ; the ground was covered with snow, and the river was 
frozen solid. AVliile I was thinking of nothing but my dinner, 
which I was then about preparing, four or five of the cowards 
jumped on me, mastered my rifle, and held my arms fast, while 
they took from me my knife and tomahawk, my flint and steel, 
and all my ammunition. They then loosed me, and told me to 
be off. I begged them, for the love of God, to give me my rifle 
and a few loads of ammunition, or I should starve before I could 
reach the settlements. No ; I should have nothing; and if I did 
not start off immediately, they would throw me under the ice of 
the river. And,' continued the excited hunter, while he ground 
his teeth Avith bitter and uncontrollable rage, ' that man that sat 
opposite to you was the chief of them. He recognised me, and 
knew very well the reason why I would not smoke Avith him. 
I tell you, sir, if ever I meet that man in any other situation 
than that in which I saw him this morning, I'll shoot him with 
as little hesitation as I would shoot a deer. Several years have 
passed since the perpetration of this outrage, but it is still as fresh 
in my memory as ever ; and I again declare, that if ever an op- 
portunity offers, I will kill that man.' ' But, Richardson, did 
they take your horse also V 'To be sure they did, and my blan- 
kets, and everything I had, except my clothes.' *■ But how did 

8 






EXCURSION TO THE OREGON. 

you subsist until you reached the settlements ? You had a lon^ 
journey before you.' ' Why, set to trappin' prairie squirrels with 
little n'ooses ma'de out of the liairs of my head.' I should remark 
that his hair was so long- that it fell in heavy masses on his 
shoulders. ' But squirrels in winter, Richardson ! I never heard 
of squirrels in winter.' * Well, but there was plenty of them, 
thougrh ; little white ones, that lived among the snow.' " Such 
is a trait of human nature in these far western regions. 

On the 18th of May the party reached the Platte river, one 
x)f the streams which pour their waters into the Missouri. 
Wolves and antelopes were abundant in the neighbourhood of 
the river, and herons and lonsr-billed curlews were stalkinsr about 
in the shallows, searching for food. The prairie is here as level 
as a race-course, not the slightest undulation appearing through- 
out the whole extent of vision in a northerly and westerly direc- 
tion ; but to the eastward of the river, and about eight miles 
from it, was seen a range of high bluifs, or sand-banks, stretching 
away to the south-east till lost in the far distance. The travellers 
were not less struck with the solemn grandeur of the apparently 
boundless prairie, than with the sight of its surface, which was 
in many places encrusted with an impure salt, seeming'ly a com- 
bination of the sulphate and muriate of soda : there were also 
seen a number of little pools, of only a few inches in depth, scat- 
tered over the plain, the water of which was so bitter and pun- 
gent, that it seemed to penetrate into the tongue, and almost to 
take the skin from the mouth. Next morning the party were 
alarmed with the appearance of two men on horseback, hovering 
on their jiath at a great distance. On looking at them with a 
telescope, they w^ere discovered to be Indians, and on their ap- 
proach it was found they belonged to a large band of the Grand 
Pawnee tribe, who were on a war-excursion, and encamped at 
about thirty miles' distance. Having got rid of these suspicious 
visitors, the party moved rapidly forward in an altered direction, 
and did not slacken their pace till twelve o'clock at night. After 
a brief rest, they again went on, travelling steadily the whole 
day, and so g-ot quite clear of the Grand Pawnees. 

The travellers were now proceeding across one of the large 
central prairies of North America, and were, as they reckoned, 
within three days' journey of the buffalo region ; that is, the 
region haunted by herds of buffalo. The uninitiated of the party, 
who for a good many days past had been listening to the spirit- 
stirring accounts given by the old hunters of their sport in 
the buffalo region, began to grow impatient for the first sight 
of this animal, the tenant of the prairies. At length, on the after- 
noon of the 20th, they came in sight of a large gang of the long- 
coveted buffalo. They were grazing on the opposite side of the 
Platte, as quietly as domestic cattle ; but as they neared them, the 
foremost winded the travellers, and started back, and the whole 
herd followed in the wildest confusion, and w^ere soon out of 
7 9 



EXCURSION TO THE OREGON. 

sight. There must have been many thousands of them. Toward* 
evening a large band of elk came on at full gallop, and passed 
very near the party. The appearance of these animals pro-^ 
duced a singular effect upon the horses, all of which became 
restive, and about half of the loose ones broke away, and scoured 
over the plain in full chase after the elk. Captain Wyeth and 
several of his men went immediately in pursuit of them, and re- 
turned late at night, bringing the greater number. Two had, 
however, been lost irrecoverably. By an observation, the lati- 
tude was found to be 40 degrees 31 minutes north, and the com- 
puted distance from the Missouri settlements about 360 miles. 

The day following, the party saw several small herds of buffalo 
on their side of the river. Two of the hunters started out after a 
huge bull that had separated himself from his companions, and 
gave him chase on fleet horses. Away went the buffalo, and 
away went the men, as hard as they could dash ; now the hunters 
gained upon him, and pressed him hard ; again the enormous- 
creature had the advantage, plunging with all his might, his ter- 
rific horns often ploughing up the earth as he spurned it under 
him. Sometimes he would double, and rush so near the horses 
as almost to gore them with his horns, and in an instant would 
be off in a tangent, and throw his pursuers from the track. At 
length the poor animal came to bay, and made some unequivocal 
demonstrations of combat, raising and tossing his head furiously, 
and tearing up the ground with his feet. At this moment a shot 
was fired. The victim trembled like an aspen leaf, and fell on his 
knees, but recovering himself in an instant, started again as fast 
as before. Again the determined hunters dashed after him, but 
the poor bull was nearly exhausted : he proceeded but a short dis- 
tance, and stopped again. The hunters approached, rode slowly 
by him, and shot two balls through his body with the most per- 
fect coolness and precision. During the race — the whole of which 
occurred in full view of the party — the men seemed wild with the 
excitement which it occasioned : and when the animal fell, a 
shout rent the air which startled the antelopes by dozens from the 
bluffs, and sent the wolves howling from their lairs. 

This is the most common mode of killing the buffalo, and is 
practised very generally by the travelling hunters : many are 
also destroyed by approaching them on foot, when, if the bushes 
are sufficiently dense, or the grass hig'h enough to afford conceal- 
ment, the hunter, by keeping carefully to leeward of his game, 
may sometimes approach so near as almost to touch the animal. 
If on a plain without grass or bushes, it is necessarj'' to be veiy 
circumspect ; to approach so slowly as not to excite alarm, and 
when observed by the animal, to imitate dexterously the clumsy 
motions of a young bear, or assume the sneaking prowling atti- 
tude of a wolf, in order to lull suspicion. The Inaians resort to 
another stratagem, which is perhaps even more successful. The 
skin of a calf is properly dressed, with the head and legs left at- 

10 



EXCURSION TO THE OREGON. 

tached to it. The Indian envplopes himself in this, and with In's 
sshoi't bow and a brace ot' arrows anibles otl" into the very midst 
of a lierd. When he has selected such an animal as suits his 
fancy, he comes close alongfside of it, and without noise passes an 
arrow throug-h its heart. One arrow is always sufficient, and it 
i< trenerally delivered with such force, that at least half the shaft 
appears through the opposite side. The ci-eature totters, and is 
about to fall, when the Indian g"lides around, and draws the 
ari*ow from the wound lest it should be broken. A single Indian 
is said to kill a gi-eat number of buffaloes in this way before any 
alarm is communicated to the herd. 

Towards evening, on ascending a hill, the party were suddenly 
gi'eeted by a sight which seemed to astonish even the oldest 
amongst them. The whole plain, as far as the eye could discern, 
was covered by one enormous mass of buffalo. The scene, at 
the very least computation, would certainly extend ten miles, and 
in the whole of this great space, including about eight miles in 
width from the bluffs to the river bank, there was apparently 
no vista in the incalculable multitude. It was truly a sight 
that would have excited even the dullest mind to enthusiasm. 
The party rode up to within a few hundred yards of the edge 
of the herd before any alarm was communicated ; then the bulls, 
which are always stationed around as sentinels, began pawing- 
the ground and throwing the earth over their heads ; in a few 
moments they started in a slow clumsy canter, but as the hunters 
neared them they quickened their pace to an astonishingly rapid 
gallop, and in a few minutes were entirely beyond the reach of 
their guns, but were still so near that their enormous horns and 
long shaggy beards were very distinctly seen. Shortly after 
encarapino:, the hunters brought in the choice parts of five that 
they had killed. 

Of the animals belonging to those vast herds which the hunters 
kill, only a small portion is usually taken for food. Mr Towns- 
end and tw^o of his associates having" killed a bull buffalo, they 
proceeded to cut it up in the following approved manner : — The 
animal was first raised from his side where he had lain, and sup- 
ported upon his knees, with his hoofs turned under him ; a longi- 
tudinal incision was then made from the nape or anterior base of 
the hump, and continued backward to the loins, and a large 
portion of the skin from each side removed ; these pieces of skin 
were placed upon the ground, with the under surface uppermost, 
and tne fleeces, or masses of meat taken from along the back, 
were laid upon them. These fleeces, from a large animal, will 
weigh perhaps a hundred pounds each, and comprise the whole 
of the hump on each side of the vertical processes (commonly 
called the hump ribs), which ai-e attached to the vertebrie. The 
fleeces are considered the choice parts of the buffalo, and here, 
whero the game is so abundant, nothing else is taken, if we ex- 
cept the tongue and an occasional marrow-bone. This, it must 

11 



EXCURSION TO THE OREGON. 

be confessed, appears like a useless and unwarrantable waste of 
the g-Qods of Providence ; but when are men economical, unless 
compelled to be so by necessity ? The food of the hunters con- 
sists for months of nothing but this kind of buffalo meat, roasted, 
and cold water — no bread of any kind. On this rude fare they 
enjoyed the best health, clear heads, and hig-h spirits. 

One night shortly after their first encounter with the buffalo, 
Mr To'WTisend entering* his tent about eleven o'clock, after having* 
served as a supernumerary watch for several hours, was stooping" 
to lay his g-un in its usual place at the head of his couch, when 
he was startled by seeing' a pair of eyes, wild and bright as those 
of a tiger, gleaming from a dark corner of the lodge, and evidently 
directed upon him, " My first impression," he says, " was that 
a wolf had been lurking around the camp, and had entered the 
tent in the prospect of finding meat. My gun was at my 
shoulder instinctively, my aim was directed between the eyes, 
and my fing-er pressed the trigger. At that moment a tall Indian 
sprang before me with a loud icah ! seized the gun, and elevated 
the muzzle above my head ; in another instant a second Indian 
was by my side, and I saw his keen knife glitter as it left the 
scabbard. I had not time for thought, and was struggling with 
all my might with the first savage for the recovery of my weapon, 
when Captain AYyeth and the other inmates of the tent were 
aroused, and the whole matter was explained, and set at rest in a 
moment. The Indians were chiefs of the tribe of Pawnee Loups, 
who had come with their young men to shoot buffalo : they had 
paid an evening visit to the captain, and as an act of courtesy, 
had been iuAited to sleep in the tent. I had not known of their 
arrival, nor did I even suspect that Indians were in our neigh- 
bourhood, so could not control the alarm which their sudden 
appearance occasioned me. These Indians," continues Mr Towns- 
end, " were the finest looking of any I had seen. Their persons 
were tall, straight, and finely formed; their noses slightly 
aquiline, and the whole countenance expressive of high and 
daring intrepidity. The face of the taller one was particularly 
admirable, and Gall or Spurzheim, at a single glance at his 
magnificent head, would have invested him with all the noblest 
qualities of the species. I know not what a physiognomist would 
have said of his eyes, but they were certainly the most wonderful 
I ever looked into ; glittering and scintillating constantly, like 
the mirror-glasses in a lamp frame, and rolling and dancing in 
their orbits as though possessed of abstract volition." 

APPROACH TO THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS. 

As the party, leaving the Pawnees and the buffiilo behind, 
beo-an to approach the mountain district, the country altered 
its appearance greatly for the worse. They were now on a 
great sandy waste, forming a kind of upper table-land of North 

12 



EXCURSION TO THE OREGON. 

America — a region without a sing-le green thing* to vary and 
enliven the scene, and abounding- in swarms of ferocious little 
black gnats, which assail the eyes, ears, nostrils, and mouth of 
the unhappy traveller. It is necessary, however, to pursue a 
route in this direction, in order to find accessible passes through 
the Rocky Mountains, which are impenetrable more to the 
north-west. Making- the best of their way over the inhospitable 
desert, and fortunately escaping any roving bands of unfriendly 
Indians, the cavalcade struck through a range of stony moun- 
tains, called the Black Hills, and in a few days afterwards came 
in sight of the Wind River Mountains, which form the loftiest 
land in the northern continent, and are at all times covered with 
snow of dazzling whiteness. From the great height above the 
level of the sea which the party had attained, the climate was 
found to be cold, even although in summer; the plains were 
covered only by the scantiest herbag-e ; and frequently there was 
great difficulty in obtaining a supply of water for the camp. The 
painfulness of the journey, therefore, was now extreme, both for 
man and beast. 

Occasionally, however, a green spot did occur, where the jaded 
horses were allowed to halt, to roam about without their riders, 
and to tumble joyfully on the verdant sward ; and as these oases 
always abounded in birds and plants, our two naturalists were 
loath to leave them. Nor was their journey through the inhos- 
pitable region of the hills devoid of incidents to vary the mono- 
tony of the way, and provoke hearty laughs from the whole 
party. One afternoon, one of the men had a somewhat perilous 
adventure with a grizzly bear. He saw the animal crouching 
his huge frame among some willows which skirted the river, and, 
approaching on horseback to within twenty yards, fired upon 
him. The bear was only slightly wounded by the shot, and, 
with a fierce growl of angry malignity, rushed from his cover, 
and gave chase. The horse happened to be a slow one, and for 
the distance of half a mile the race was severely contested — the 
bear frequently approaching so near the terrified animal as to 
snap at his heels, while the equally terrified rider, who had lost 
his hat at the start, used whip and spur with the most frantic 
diligence, frequently looking behind, from an influence which he 
could not resist, at his rugged and determined foe, and shrieking- 
in an agony of fear, ' Shoot him ! shoot him ! ' The man, who 
was a young hunter, happened to be about a mile behind the 
main body, either from the indolence of his horse or his own 
carelessness; but as he approached the party in his desperate 
flight, and his pitiable cries reached the ears of the men in 
front, about a dozen of them rode to his assistance, and soon 
succeeded in diverting the attention of his pertinacious foe. 
After the bear had received the contents of all the guns, he 
fell, and was soon despatched. The man rode in among his 
fellows, pale and haggard from overwrought feelings, and was 

13 



EXCURSION TO THE ORE&ON. 

probably effectually cured of a propensity for meddling witli 
g'rizzly bears. 

On the 19th of June, the party arrived on the Green river, or 
Colorado of the west, which they forded, and encamped upon 
a spot which was to form a rendezvous for all the mountain 
companies who left the states in spring, and also the trappers 
who come from various parts with furs collected by them during* 
the previous year. 

Our traveller relates a misfortune which happened to him 
here. Having" sallied forth with his gun, and wandered about 
for several hours shooting birds, he found on returning to the 
camp that his party had quitted the spot. In pursuing their 
track, he had to swim his horse across a deep and swift stream. 
After coming up with the party, he was congratulating himself 
on his escape from being drowned, when he found that he had 
lost his coat. " I had felt,'' he says, " uncomfortably warm when 
I mounted, and had removed the coat and attached it carelessly 
to the saddle ; the rapidity of the current had disengaged it, and 
it was lost for ever. The coat itself was not of much consequence 
after the hard service it had seen, but it contained the second 
volume of my journal, a pocket compass, and other articles of 
essential value to me. I would gladly have relinquished every- 
thing the garment held, if I could but have recovered the book ; 
and although I returned to the river, and searched assiduously 
until night, and offered large rewards to the men, it could not 
be found." 

The loss of his journal, however, was not the only bad conse- 
quence of his river adventure. The ducking" he had received 
brought on a fever which confined him to his tent for several 
days. It was well for him that they had now arrived at the 
rendezvous where the caravans always make some stay before 
proceeding on the remainder of their journey. Still, according 
to Mr Townsend's account of the encampment, it was scarcely 
the best hospital for an invalid. As there were several other 
encampments stationed on the spot — among others that of the 
party of rival traders which had passed Captain Wyeth's party 
on the road — the encampment was constantly crowded with a 
heterogeneous assemblage of visitors. " The principal of these 
are Indians of the Nez Perce, Banneck, and Shoshone tribes, 
who come with the furs and peltries which they have been, col- 
lecting at the risk of their lives during the past winter and 
spring, to trade for ammunition, trinkets, and fire-water. 
There is, in addition to these, a great variety of personages 
amongst us ; most of them calling themselves white men, French- 
Canadians, half-breeds, &c., their colour nearly as dark, and 
their manners wholly as wild, as the Indians with whom they 
constantly associate. These people, with their obstreperous 
mirth, their whooping, and howling, and quarrelling, added to 
the mounted Indians, who ai'e constantly dashing into and 

14 



EXCURSION TO THE OREGON. 



throu-h our camp, yelling like fiends, the barking and baying 
of savage wolf-dogs, and the incessant cracking of rifles and 
carbines, render our camp a perfect bed am. A more unpleasant 
situation for an invalid could scarcely be conceived. I /^i con- 
-fin^d closely to the tent with illness, and am compelled all day 
to listen to the hiccoughing jargon of drunken traders, and the 
wearing and screaming of our own men who are scarcely less 
ravage than the rest, being heated by the detestable liquor which 
circulates fi-eely among them. It is very much to be regretted 
that at times like the present there should be a positive necessity 
to allow the men as much rum as they can drmk ; but this course 
has been sanctioned and practised by all the leaders of parties 
who have hitherto visited these regions, and reform cannot be 
thought of now. The principal liquor in use is alcohol diluted 
with water. It is sold to the men at three dollars the pint! 
Tobacco, of very inferior quality, such as could be purchased m 
Philadelphia at about ten cents per pound, here fetches two 
dollars ! and everything else in proportion. There is no com m 
circulation, and these articles are therefore paid for by the mde- 
nendent mountain-men in beaver skins, buffalo robes, &c. ; and 
those who are hired to the companies, have them charged ag-amst 
their wages. I was somewhat amused by observing one ot our 
newly-hired men enter the tent and order, with the air of a man 
who knew he would not be refused, twenty dollars worth ot 
rum and ten dollars worth of sugar, to treat two of his companions 
who were about leaving the rendezvous." r^ ^ • 

At the rendezvous a number of men belonging to Captain 
Wyeth's party left it to join returning parties ; but the diminu- 
tion of numbers thus occasioned was made up for by the accession 
of about thirty Indians— Flatheads, Nez Perces, and others, with 
their wives, children, and dogs. These Indians joined tne party 
in order to enjoy the benefit of its convoy through the tract of 
country infested by the Blackfeet Indians— a fierce and w^arlike 
race the terror both of Indians and whites. Here also the 
part'v was joined by two English gentlemen roaming the prairies 
for amusement. At length, on the 2d of July, the party bade 
adieu to the rendezvous, packed up their moveables, and journeyed 
alono- the bank of the river. The horses were much recruited 
by the long rest and good pasture, and, like their masters, were 
in excellent spirits for renewing the route across the wilderness. 
They had now reached the confines of the Rocky Mountains, 
from which originate the upper tributaries of the Missouri on 
the one side, and those of the Columbia on the other. The plains 
in this high region are more rugged and barren than in the lower 
territories, and occasionally present evidences of volcanic action, 
beino- thickly covered with masses of lava and high basaltic 
crao-s. The principal vegetation on the hills consists of small 
cedars, while on the plains nothing flourishes but the shrubby 
wormwood or sage. Mr Townsend had an opportunity, in these 



EXCURSION TO THE OREGON. 

melanclioly wastes, of becoming acquainted with, a variety of 
animals, particularly birds. He met with flocks of a beautiful 
bird, called the cock of the plain [Tetrao urophasiatms), which 
was so very tame, or rather so little accustomed to evil treatment, 
as to ming-le familiarly with the cavalcade, and to suffer itself to 
be knocked down by whips. 

On the 10th of July, the party encamped near the Blackfeet 
river, a small slugg-ish stagnant stream which empties itself into 
the Bear river. Here they had a rather stirring adventure with 
a grizzly bear. " As we appi'oached our encampment," says Mr 
Townsend, "near a small grove of willows on the mararin 
of the river, a tremendous grizzly bear rushed out upon 
us. Our horses ran wildly in every direction, snorting with 
terror, and became nearly unmanageable. Several balls were 
instantly fired into him, but they only seemed to increase his 
fury. After spending a moment in rending each wound (their 
invariable practice), he selected the person who happened to be 
nearest, and darted after him ; but before he proceeded far, he was 
sure to be stopped again by a ball from another quarter. In this 
way he was driven about amongst us for perhaps fifteen minutes, 
at times so near some of the horses, that he received several 
severe kicks from them. One of the pack-horses was fairly 
fastened upon by the fearful claws of the brute, and in the terri- 
fied animal's efforts to escape the dreaded gripe, the pack and 
saddle were broken to pieces and disengaged. One of our mules 
also lent him a kick in the head while pursuing it up an adjacent 
hill, which sent him rolling to the bottom. Here he was finally 
brought to a stand. The poor animal was so completely sur- 
rounded by enemies that he became bewildered ; he raised him- 
self upon his hind feet, standing almost erect, his mouth partly 
open, and from his protruding tongue the blood fell fast in drops^ 
While in this position he received about six more balls, each of 
which made him reel. At last, as in complete desperation, he 
dashed into the water and swam several yards with astonishing 
strength and agility, the guns cracking at him constantly. But 
he was not to proceed far ; for just then Richardson, who had 
been absent, rode up, and fixing his deadly aim upon him, fired a 
ball into the back of his head, which killed him instantly. The 
strength of four men was required to drag the ferocious brute 
from the water, and upon examining his body, he was found 
completely riddled ; there did not appear to be four inches of his 
shaggy person, from the hips upward, that had not received a 
ball; there must have been at least thirty shots fired at him, 
and probably few missed ; yet such was his tenacity of life, that 
I have no doubt he would have succeeded in crossing the river 
but for the last shot in the brain. He would probably weigh at 
the least six hundred pounds, and was about the height of an 
ordinary steer. The spread of the foot laterally Avas ten inches, 
and the claws measured seven inches in length. This animal 

16 



EXCURSION TO THE OREGON. 

was remarkably lean : when in good condition he would doubt- 
less much exceed in weight the estimate I have given. Richard- 
son and two other hunters in company killed two in the course 
of the afternoon, and saw several others." 

Although it was known that parties of Blackfeet were hanging 
in the route of the caravan, our travellers fortunately escaped 
being attacked by these dreaded Indians ; and on the 14th, having 
reached the banks of the fine large Shoshone or Snake, also called 
Lewis river, they came to a halt for the purpose of erecting a fort,^ 
according to their instructions, and also of enjoying a rest of a 
fortnight or three weeks before renewing their journey. Nearly 
four months had now elapsed since they had commenced theii* 
expedition, and there were various evidences that they were ap- 
proaching its close. The Snake river, on the banks of which they 
were encamped, pours its waters directly into the Columbia, and 
as they tried to form some idea of the great Oregon river from the 
size of its tributary, it became evident that they were approach- 
ing the western shore of the vast North American continent. 

Food, however, was becoming scarce, the stock of dried 
buffalo meat being nearly exhausted; and therefore, while the. 
majority of the party should remain to build a fort on the banks 
of the Snake river, it was resolved that a hunting party of twelve 
persons should start on the back track to shoot buffalo, and returns 
to the fort in eight or nine days with the fruits of their diligence. 
To this party Mr Townsend attached himself. The hunters were 
successful in procuring buffalo, on which they now entirely fed^ 
besides bringing a quantity in a di'ied state to the camp. Ex- 
posed constantly to the pure air, and having abundant exercise, 
the appetites of the party were most ravenous. Rising in the 
morning with the sun, they kindled a fire and roasted their 
breakfast, which consisted of from one to two pounds of meat. 
At ten o'clock they lunched on meat; at two they dined on 
meat ; at five they supped on meat ; at eight they had a second 
supper of meat ; and during the night, when they awoke, they 
took a snatch at any meat within reach. Their food was thus 
entirely meat, without bread or any other article except water^ 
which was their sole beverage. On this plain and substantial 
fare they enjoyed robust health. 

Having heard that a ball in the middle of the forehead was- 
never known to kill a buffalo, Mr Townsend determined to try 
the experiment. Accordingly one evening, seeing a large bull 
close at hand, he sallied forth wdth the utmost caution in the 
direction of his victim. " The unwieldy brute," he says, " was- 
quietly and unsuspiciously cropping the herbage, and I had ar- 
rived to within ten feet of him, when a sudden flashing of the 
eye, and an impatient motion, told me that I was observed. He 
raised his enormous head and looked around him, and so trulv 
terrible and grand did he appear, that I must confess I felt 
awed, almost frightened, at the task I had undertaken. But 

17 



EXCURSION TO THE OREGON. 

I had gone too far to retreat ; so, raising: my gun, I took deli- 
berate aim at the bushj centre of the forehead, and fired. The 
monster shook his head, pawed up the earth with his hoofs, and 
making a sudden spring, accompanied by a terrific roar, turned 
to make his escape. At that instant the ball from the second 
barrel penetrated his vitals, and he measured his huge length 
upon the ground. In a few seconds he was dead. Upon exa- 
mining the head, and cutting away the enormous mass of matted 
iair and skin which enveloped the skull, my large bullet of 
twenty to the pound was found completely flattened against the 
bone, having carried with it, through the interposing integu- 
ment, a considerable portion of the coarse hair, but without pro- 
ducing the smallest fracture. I was satisfied; and taking the 
tongue — the hunter's perquisite — I returned to my companions." 

Some of the party had seen Blackfeet Indians skulking about, 
and the effect was to put the hunters more on their guard. They 
were now certain that their worst enemies, the Blackfeet, were 
around them, and that they only waited for a favourable oppor- 
tunity of making an attack. It was felt that these savage wan- 
derers were not there for nothing, and that the greatest care was 
necessary to prevent a surprise. 

The Blackfeet is a sworn and determined foe to all white men, 
and he has often been heard to declare that he would rather hang 
the scalp of a pale-face to his girdle, than kill a buffalo to pre- 
vent his starving. The hostility of this dreaded tribe is, and has 
for years been, proverbial. They are, perhaps, the only Indians 
who do not fear the power, and who refuse to acknowledge the 
superiority of the white man; and though so often beaten in 
conflicts with them, even by their own mode of warfare, and 
generally with numbers vastly inferior, their indomitable courage 
and perseverance still urges them on to renewed attempts ; and 
if a single scalp is taken, it is considered equal to a great vic- 
tory, and is hailed as a presage of future and more extensive 
triumphs. 

It must be acknowledged, however, that this determined hos- 
tility does not originate solely in savage malignity, or an abstract 
thirst for the blood of white men ; 4t is fomented and kept alive 
from year to year by incessant provocatives on the part of white 
hunters, trappers, and traders, who are at best but intruders on 
the rightful domain of the red man of the wilderness. " Many 
a night," adds our traveller, " have I sat at the camp fire and 
listened to the recital of bloody and ferocious scenes, in. which 
the narrators were the actors, and the poor Indians the victims, 
and I have felt my blood tingle with shame, and boil with indig-- 
nation, to hear the diabolical acts applauded by those for whose 
amusement they were related. Many a precious villain and 
merciless marauder was made by these midnight tales of rapine, 
murder, and robbery ; many a stripling, in whose tender mind 
the seeds of virtue and honesty had never germinated, burned 

18 



EXCURSION TO THE OREGON. 

•for an opportunity of loading" his pack-horse with the beaTep 
skins of some solitary Blackfeet trapper, who was to be mur- 
dered and despoiled of the property he had acquired by weeks 
and perhaps months of toil and danger." 

The proximity of the Blackfeet caused the old hunters to recol- 
lect their former adventures in the same neig'hbourhood ; and one 
evening", as the party sat around the camp lire, wrapped in their 
warm blankets, these old hunters became talkative, and related 
their individual adventures for the g-eneral amusement. The 
best story was one told by Richardson, of a meeting* he once had 
-with three Blackfeet Indians. He had been out alone hunting" 
Ijuffalo, and towards the end of the day was returning* to the 
-camp with his meat, when he heard the clattering" of hoofs in the 
Tear, and upon looking" back, observed three Indians in hot pur- 
suit of him. To lig-hten his horse, he immediately threw off the 
meat he carried, and then urg-ed the animal to his utmost speed, 
in an attempt to distance his pursuers. He soon discovered, 
however, that the enemy was rapidly gaining" upon him, and 
that in a few minutes more he would be completely at their 
mercy, when he hit upon an expedient as sing-ular as it was bold 
and courageous. Drawing" his long scalping-knife from the sheath 
at his side, he plunged the keen weapon through his horse's neck, 
and severed the spine. The animal dropped instantly dead, and 
the determined hunter, throwing himself behind the fallen car- 
cass, waited calmly the approach of his sanguinary pursuers. In 
a few moments one Indian was within range of the fatal rifle, 
and at its report his horse galloped riderless over the plain. The 
remaining two then thought to take him at advantage by ap- 
proaching simultaneously on both sides of his rampart ; but one 
of them happening to venture too near in order to be sure of his 
aim, was shot to the heart by the long pistol of the white man 
at the very instant that the ball from the Indian's gun whistled 
harmlessly by. The third savage, being wearied of the dangerous 
game, applied the whip vigorously to the flanks of his horse, and 
was soon out of sight, while Richardson set about collecting the 
trophies of his singular victory. He caught the two Indians' 
horses, mounted one, and loaded the other with the meat which 
he had discarded, and returned to his camp with two spare rifles, 
and a, good stock of ammunition. 

Having now procured a sufficient quantity of buff'alo meat, the 
hunting party set out on its return to the fort, and arrived there 
on the 25th, after nine days' absence. Their return had been 
anxiously expected, and " I could well perceive," says Mr Towns- 
end, " many a longing and eager gaze cast upon the well-filled 
bales of buffalo meat as our mules swung their little bodies through 
the camp. My companion, Mr Nuttall, had become so exceedingly 
thin that I could scarcely have known him ; and upon my ex- 
pressing sul'prise at the great change in his appearance, he heaved 
a sigh of inanity, and remarked that I ' would have been as 

19^ 



EXCURSION TO THE OREGON. 

tliin as he, if I had lived on old bear for two weeks, and short^S 
allowance of that.' I found, in truth, that the whole camp had 1 
been subsisting* during om* absence on little else than two or " 
three g-rizzly bears which had been killed in the neig-hbourhood ; 
and with a complacent g-lance at my own rotund and cow-fed 
person, I wished my poor friend better luck for the future." 

Another travelling- company had encamped on the banks of 
the Snake river during" the absence of the hunting* party. It 
consisted of thirty men, thirteen of them Indians, Nez Perces, 
Chinooks, and Kayouse, the remainder French-Canadians and 
half-breeds. Mr M'Kay, the leader of this company, was the 
son of Mr Alexander M'Kay, one of the early adventurers across 
the prairies, the tragical story of whose massacre by the Indians 
on the north-west coast is told by Washing-ton Irving in his- 
" Astoria." Mr Townsend gives an interesting description of 
this company and its captain. " On the evening of the 26th," 
he says, " Captain Wyeth, JMr Nuttall, and myself, supped with 
Mr M'Kay in his lodge. I am much pleased with this gentle- 
man ; he unites the free, frank, and open manners of the moun- 
tain man, with the grace and affability of the Frenchman. But 
above all, I admire the order, decorum, and strict subordination 
which exists among his men ; so different from what I have been 
accustomed to see in parties composed of Americans. Mr 31'Kay 
assures me that he had considerable difficulty in bringing his- 
men to the state in which they now are. The free and fearless 
Indian was particularly difficult to subdue ; but steady deter- 
mined perseverance and bold measures, aided by a rig-id self- 
example, made them as clay in his hand, and has finally reduced 
them to their present admirable condition. If they misbehave^ 
a commensurate punishment is sure to follow. In extreme cases 
flagellation is resorted to, but it is inflicted only by the hand of 
the captain ; were any other appointed to perform this office on 
an Indian, the indignity would be deemed so great that nothing 
less than the blood of the individual could appease the wounded 
feelings of the savage. After supper was concluded, we sat down 
on a buffalo robe at the entrance of the lodge to see the Indians^ 
at their devotions. The whole thirteen were soon collected ab 
the call of one whom they had chosen for their chief, and seated 
with sober sedate countenances around a large fire. After re- 
maining in perfect silence for perhaps fifteen minutes, the chief 
commenced a harangue in a solemn and impressive tone, remind- 
ing them of the object for which they were thus assembled — that 
of worshipping the ' Great Spirit who made the light and the 
darkness, the tire and the water,' and assured them that if they 
offered up their prayers to him with but ' one tongue,' they 
would certainly be accepted. He then rose from his squatting 
position to his knees, and his example was followed by all the^ 
others. In this situation he commenced a prayer, consisting of 
short sentences, uttered rapidly but with great apparent fervomv 

20 



EXCURSION TO THE OREGOJT. 

his hands clasped upon his breast, and his eyes cast upwards with 
a beseeching" look towards heaven. At the conclusion of each 
sentence, a choral response of a few words was made, accom- 
panied frequently by low moaning*. The prayer lasted about 
twenty minutes. 

After its conclusion, the chief, still maintaining the same posi- 
tion of his body and hands, but with his head bent to his breast, 
commenced a kind of psalm or sacred song, in which the whole 
company presently joined. The song was a simple expression 
of a few sounds, no intelligible words being uttered. It resembled 
the words Ho-ha-ho-lia-ho-ha-ha-a, commencing in a low tone, 
and gradually swelling to a full, round, and beautifully modu- 
lated chorus. During the song the clasped hands of the wor- 
shippers were moved rapidly across the breast, and their bodies 
swung with great energy to the time of the music. The chief 
ended the song by a kind of swelling groan, which was echoed 
in chorus. It was then taken up by another, and the same 
routine was gone through. The whole ceremony occupied per- 
haps an hour and a half; a short silence then succeeded, after 
which each Indian rose from the ground, and disappeared in the 
darkness with a step noiseless as that of a spectre. I think I 
never was more gratified by any exhibition in my life. The 
humble, subdued, and beseeching looks of the poor untutored 
beings who were calling upon their heavenly father to forgive 
their sins, and continue his mercies to them, and the evident 
and heartfelt sincerity which characterised the whole scene, was 
truly affecting and very impressive. 

The next day being the Sabbath, our good missionary, Mr 
Jason Lee, was requested to hold a meeting, with which he 
obligingly complied. A convenient shady spot was selected in 
the forest adjacent, and the greater part of our men, as well as 
the whole of Mr M'Kay's company, including the Indians, 
attended. The usual forms of the Methodist service, to which 
Mr Lee is attached, were gone through, and were followed by a 
brief but excellent and appropriate exhortation by that gentle- 
man. The people were remarkably quiet and attentive, and the 
Indians sat upon the ground like statues. Although not one of 
them could understand a word that was said, they nevertheless 
maintained the most strict and decorous silence, kneeling when 
the preacher kneeled, and rising when he rose, evidently with a 
\iew of paying him and us a suitable respect, however much 
their own notions as to the proper and most acceptable forms of 
worship might have been opposed to ours. A meeting for wor- 
ship in the Rocky Mountains is almost as unusual as the appear- 
ance of a herd of buffalo in the settlements. A sermon was 
perhaps never preached here before, but for myself I really en- 
joyed the whole scene : it possessed the charm of novelty, to say 
nothing of the salutary effect which I sincerely hope it may pro- 
duce." 

21 



JEXCURSIOl!? TO THE OREGON. 

After having" completed the fort, and raised the American flag- 
upon it, the party on the 6th of August recommenced their 
journey westward, leaving some men in charge of the building. 
The company consisted now but of thirty men, several Indian 
women, and one hundred and sixteen horses. Having left most 
of the fresh buffalo meat brought in by the hunting party in 
the fort for the subsistence of the small garrison, they had to be 
contented with the old dry meat they had carried for many 
weeks in their hampers, varied with the flesh of a grizzly bear, 
or any such animal which good fortune might send across their 
path. Nor was this the worst, for on the very day after leaving" 
the fort, having travelled from sunrise over an arid plain covered 
with jagged masses of lava and twisted wormwood bushes, and 
where not a drop of water was to be seen, they began to suifer- 
dreadfully from thirst. Every man kept a bullet or smooth 
stone in his mouth, mumbling it to provoke the saliva. At last 
one of the men, a mulatto, "cast himself resolutely from his- 
horse to the ground, and declared that he would lie there till he 
died ; ' there was no water in this horrid country, and he might 
as well die here as go farther.' Some of us tried to infuse a little 
courage into him, but it proved of no avail, and each was toa 
much occupied with his own particular grief to use his tongue- 
much in persuasion ; so we left him to his fate. 

Soon after nightfall, some signs of water were seen in a small 
valley to our left, and upon ascending" it, the foremost of the 
party found a delightful little cold spring ; but they soon ex- 
hausted it, and then commenced, with axes and knives, to dig" 
it out and enlarge it. By the time that Mr Nuttall and myself 
arrived, they had excavated a large space, which was filled tO' 
overflowing with muddy water. We did not wait for it to settle^ 
however, but throwing ourselves fiat upon the ground, drank 
until we were ready to burst. The tales which I had read of 
suffering travellers in the Arabian deserts then recurred with 
some force to my recollection, and I thought I could, though m 
a very small measure, appreciate their sufferings by deprivation^, 
and their unmingled delight and satisfaction in the opportunity 
of assuaging them. 

Poor Jim, the mulatto man, was found by one of the people- 
who went back in search of him lying where he had first fallen^ 
and, either in a real or pretended swoon, still obstinate about 
dying, and scarcely heeding the assurances of the other that 
water was within a mile of him. He was, however, at length 
dragged and carried into camp, and soused head foremost into 
the mud puddle, where he drank until his eyes seemed ready to- 
burst from his head, and he was lifted out and laid dripping and 
flaccid upon the ground." 

The ground over which the party was travelling, was becom- 
ing more and more rugged and rocky. They entered a defile 
between the mountains, about five hundred yards wide, covered 

22 



.EXCURSION TO THE OREGOX. 

like the surrounding' country with pines; and as they proceeded^ 
the timber grew so closely, added to a thick undergrowth of" 
bushes, that it appeared almost impossible to proceed with their 
horses. The farther they advanced the more their difficulties- 
seemed to increase ; obstacles of various kinds impeded their- 
progress — fallen trees, their branches tangled and matted toge- 
ther ; large rocks and deep ravines ; holes in the ground, into 
which their animals would be precipitated without the possibility 
of avoiding them ; and a hundred other difficulties. 

After travelling for six miles through this defile, two of the- 
party, Captain Wyeth and the experienced hunter Richardson, 
set out to explore the foreground, and look for a pass throug'h. 
the mountains. They returned next morning with the mortify- 
ing intelligence that no pass could be found. They had climbed 
to the very summit of the highest peaks above the snow and the 
reach of vegetation, and the only prospect they had was a con- 
fused mass of huge angular rocks, over which a wild g'oat could 
scarcely make his way. The captain also had a narrow escape 
from being dashed to pieces during the excursion. He was 
walking on a ridge which sloped from the top at an angle of 
about forty degrees, and terminated at its lower part in a per- 
pendicular precipice of a thousand or twelve hundred feet. He 
was moving along in the snow cautiously, near the lower edge, 
in order to attain a more level spot beyond, when his feet slipped 
and he fell. Before he could attempt to fix himself firmly, he slid 
down the declivity till within a few feet of the frightful precipice^ 
At the instant of his fall, he had the presence of mind to plant 
the rifle which he held in one hand, and his knife which he drew 
from the scabbard with the other, into the snow, and as he almost 
tottered on the verge, he succeeded in checking himself, and 
holding his body perfectly still. He then gradually moved, first 
the rifle and then the knife, backward up the slanting hill behind 
him, and fixing them firmly, drew up his body parallel to them.. 
In this way he moved slowly and surely until he had gained his 
former position, when, without further difficulty, he succeeded in 
reaching the more level land. 

Disappointed in finding a pass through the mountains at this- 
point, the party altered the bearing of their route, and at last 
they came upon the remains of a recent encampment of Indians, 
Following the trail of these Indians, they entered a valley similar 
to that which they had just explored, and tenninating in a path 
over the mountains. Mr Townsend thus describes their toilsome 
march across these heights. " The commencement of the Alpine 
path was, however, far better than we had expected, and we 
entertained the hope that the passage could be made without 
difficulty or much toil ; but the farther we progressed, the more 
laborious the travelling became. Sometimes we mounted steep 
banks of intermingled flinty rock and friable slate, where our 
horses could scarcely obtain a footing-, frequently sliding down 

23 



EXCURSION TO THE OREGON. 



jeveral feet on the loose broken stones. Ag-ain we parsed alono- 
the extreme verg-e of tremendous precipices at a gK^^ 
where at almost every step the stones and earth would roll f?om 
^nder our horses' leet, and we could hear them strike wt^ a duU 
leaden sound on the craggy rocks below. The whole iournev 
to-day, from the time we arrived at the heig-hts until we 3 
grossed the mountain, has been a most fearfulone. F^r my e?f 

adoTtfno.thr'l ^^—^1^^/j^e danger very consideiSfbT 
adopting the plan pursued by the rest of the company that of 
^valking- and leadmg- my horse over the most dano-erou^ d aces • 
but I have been suffering for several days with a fame foot and 
am wholly incapable of such exertion. I soon discovered tbLt an 
attempt to guide my horse over the most merged and steepesj 
ranges was worse than useless, so I dropped Sfe rein unonThe 

?Z^7Lf'^ keeping as quiet as possible in the saddle But I 
W P ^"^J"^•^.^^^' ^tartmg occasionally when the feet of my 
hov.e would slip on a stone and one side of him would slide 
rapidly towards the edge of the precipice; but I alwayTrecovered 
^vsdt^by a desperate effort, and it was'fortunate for meXt I 

The party continued its march for several days throu-h this 
Tug^ed and inhospitable region, coming into occasional ?onac 
^vith parties of the Snake Indians, and subsisting on the kamaf 
^ kind of root resembling the potato, which Is found in th^ 
prairie; on cherries, berries, and small fruit, which they found 
gTowm^ on bushes; and also on an occasional chance prize of an^ 
mal food. "At about daylight on the morning of the Vth " says 
Mv Townsend, "haying charge of the last ^u'ard of the nio-hri 
tiof'inTo 1^'^''''^^ '^''^. little colt, of about four months old, 
tiot mto the camp, wmnjang with great apparent pleasure, and 
dancmg and curvetting gaily amongst our sober and sedate 
band. I had no doubt that he had su-ayed fi-om Indians, who 
were probably in the neighbourhood ; but as here every aiimal 
that comes near us is fair game, and as we were hungry not 
having eaten anythmg of consequence since yesterday mornino-, 
1 thoug-ht the httle stranger would make a -ood breakfast for u"". 
l^oncluding, however, that it would be best fo act advisedly in the 
patter, I put my head into Captain Wyeth's tent, and^tellin- 
him the news, made the proposition which had occurred to me° 
Ihe captams reply was encouraging enouo-h-'' Down with him 
tl'V^T' Mr Townsend ; and fet us have him for breakS' 
Accordingly in live minutes afterwards a bullet sealed the fate 
of the unfortunate visitor, and my men were set to work, makino- 
fires and rummagmg out the long-neglected stew-pans while 1 
^n^aged myself in laying the little animal, and cutting up his 
body in readiness for the pots. o f '^ 

When the camp was aroused about an hour after, the savoury 
Bteam^^of the cookery was rising and saluting the nostrils of our 



EXCURSION TO THE OREGON. 

hungry people with its fragrance, who, rubbing their hands witli 
delight, sat themselves down upon the ground, waiting with 
what patience they might for the unexpected repast which was 
preparing for them. It was to me almost equal to a good break- 
fast to witness the pleasure and satisfaction which I had been 
the means of diiFusing through the camp. The repast was ready 
at length, and we did full justice to it ; every man ate until he 
was filled, and all pronounced it one of the most delicious meals 
they had ever assisted in demolishing. When our breakfast was 
concluded, but little of the colt remained ; that little was, how- 
ever, carefully packed up and deposited on one of the horses, to 
furnish at least a portion of another meal." 

In the afternoon of the same day, after a long march, they 
procured three small salmon from some Indians who were fishing 
on the Mallade river ; and these, cooked along with a grouse, a 
beaver, and the remains of the pony, made a very savoury mess. 
" While we were eating, we were visited by a Snake chief, a large 
and powerful man, of a peculiarly dignified aspect and manner. 
He was naked, with the exception of a small blanket which 
covered his shoulders, and descended to the middle of the back, 
being fastened around the neck with a silver skewer. As it was 
pudding time with us, our visitor was of course invited to sit down 
and eat ; and he, nothing loath, deposited himself at once upon the 
ground, and made a remarkably vigorous assault upon the mixed 
contents of the dish. He had not eaten long*, however, before we 
perceived a sudden and inexplicable change in his countenance-, 
which was instantly followed by a violent ejectment of a huge 
mouthful of our luxurious fare. The man rose slowly and with 
great dignity to his feet, and pronouncing the single word 
sliekum (horse), in a tone of mingled anger and disgust, stalked 
rapidly out of the camp, not even wishing us a good evening. It 
struck me as a singular instance of accuracy and discrimination 
in the organs of taste. We had been eating of the multifarious 
compound without being able to recognise by the taste a single 
ingredient which it contained ; a stranger came amongst us, who 
did not know, when he commenced eating, that the dish was 
formed of more than one item, and yet in less than five minutes 
he discovered one of the very least of its component parts." 

The neighbourhood of these Snake Indians was not very agree- 
able to our travellers for many reasons. Mr Townsend paid a 
visit to their camp, and the description he gives of it does not 
lead one to conceive a high idea of savage life. " Early in the 
morning," he says, " I strolled into the Snake camp. It con- 
sists of about thirty lodges or wigwams, formed generally of 
branches of trees tied together in a conic summit, and covered 
with buffalo, deer, or elk skins. Men and little children were 
lolling about the ground all around the wigwams, together with 
a heterogeneous assemblage of dogs, cats, some tamed prairie 
wolves, and other varmints. The dogs growled and snapped 

So 



EXCURSION TO THE OREGON, 



^-hen I approached, the wolves cowered and looked cross, and the 
cats ran away and hid themselves in dark corners. Thev had 
not been accustomed to the face of a white man, and aU X 
•quadrupeds seemed to regard me as some monstrou production 
more t^ be feared than loved or courted. This dislike, howeve? 
did not appear to extend to the bipeds, for many of 'every a'e 
and sex gathered around me, and seemed to be "examinini me 
critically m all directions. The men looked complacently at me 
the women the dear creatures, smiled upon me, and iL liule 
naked pot-bellied children crawled arou/d my f^et, exami W 
the fashion of my hard shoes, and playing with the ong Mn^el 
or my leathern inexpressibles. But I scarcely know how to com- 
inence a description of the camp, or to frame a sentence wlSdi 
will give an adequate idea of the extreme filth and horrific nasti^ 
ness ot the whole vicinity. 

Immediately as I entered the village, my olfactories were 
assailed by the most vile and mephitic Sdoursf which I founT o 
proceed chiefly from great piles of salmon entrails and garbao e 
which were lying festering and rotting in the sun ar?und the 
Tery doors of the habitations. Fish, recent and half-dried, were 
scattered all over the ground under the feet of the do-s, wolves 
and childi-en ; and others which had been split, were han-in- 
on rude platforms erected within the precincts of the camp" 
bome ot the women were making their breakfast of the p-reat 
red salmon eggs as large as peas, and using a wooden spoon 
to convey them to their mouths. Occasionally, also, by way of 
varying the repast, they would take a huge pinch of l dryino- 
tsh which was lying on the ground near them. Many of th? 
^hildren were similarly employed, and the little imps would also 
have hard contests with the dogs for a favourite morsel, the for- 
mer roarmg and blubbering, the latter yelping and snarling, and 
both rollmg over and over together upon the savoury soil The 
whole economy of the lodges, and the inside and outside appear- 
ance, was of a piece with everything else about them—filthy 
beyond description ; the very skins which covered the wigwams 
were black and stifi" with rancid salmon fat, and the dresses (if 
dresses they may be called) of the women were of the same 
colour and consistence from the same cause. These dresses are 
little square pieces of deer-skin, fastened with a thong around the 
loins, and reaching about half way to the knees : the rest of the 
person is entirely naked. Some of the women had little children 
<5hngmg hke bullfrogs to their backs, without being" fastened 
and in that situation extracting their lactiferous sustenance from 
the breast, which was thrown over the shoulders. It is almost 
need ess to say that I did not remain long in the Snake camp; 
for although I had been a considerable time estranged from the 
abodes of luxury, and had become somewhat accustomed to at 
least a partial assimilation to a state of nature, yet I was not pre- 
pared for what I saw here. I never had fancied anything so 



EXCURSION TO THE OREGON. 

titterly abominable, and was glad to escape to a purer and more 
wholesome atmosphere." 

The party again toiled on, every day's marcli bringing them 
sensibly nearer the end of their journey. On the •2d of Septem- 
ber they reached the Utalla river, and here Captain Wyeth and 
two men left them to go on to the Walla Walla fort, a little way 
distant. Now that our travellers were to enter once more into 
civilised society, they began to feel a little anxiety about their 
toilet ; and Mr Townsend's description of the preparations they 
made on the occasion is rather amusing. " As we were ap- 
proaching so near the abode of those in whose eyes we wished to 
appear like fellow Christians, we concluded that there would be 
a propriety in attempting to remove at least one of the heathenish 
badges w^hich we had worn throughout the journey ; so Mr 
Nuttall's razor was fished out from its hiding-place in the bottom 
of his trunk, and in a few minutes our encumbered chins lost 
their long-cherished ornaments ; we performed our ablutions in 
the river, arrayed ourselves in clean linen, trimmed our long* hair, 
and then arranged our toilet before a mirror with great self-com- 
placence and satisfaction. I admired my own appearance con- 
siderably (and this is probably an acknowledgment that few 
would make), but I could not refrain from laughing at the 
strange party-coloured apjDearance of my physiognomy, the 
lower portion being fair like a woman's, and the upper brown 
and swarthy as an Indian." 

ARRIVAL AT THE COLUMBIA. 

" About noon of the 3d of September," continues our traveller, 
" we struck the Walla Walla river, a pretty stream of fifty or 
sixty yards in width, fringed with tall willows, and containing a 
number of salmon, which we can see frequently leaping from the 
water. The pasture here being good, we allowed our horses an 
hour's rest to feed, and then travelled over the plain until near 
dark, when, on ascending a sandy hill, the noble Columbia burst 
iipon om' view. I could scarcely repress a loud exclamation of 
delight and pleasure as I gazed upon the magnificent river flow- 
ing silently and majestically on, and reflected that I had actually 
crossed the vast American continent, and now stood upon a stream 
that poured its waters directly into the Pacific. This then was 
the great Oregon, the first appearance of which gave Lewis and 
Clark so many emotions of joy and pleasure, and on this stream 
our indefatigable coimtrymen wintered after the toils and priva- 
tions of a long and protracted journey through the wilderness. 
My reverie was suddenly interrupted by one of the men exclaim- 
ing from his position in advance, ' There is the fort.' We had in 
truth approached very near without being conscious of it. There 
stood the fort on the bank of the river ; horses and horned cattle 
were roaming about the vicinity, and on the borders of the little 
Walla Walla we recognised the white tent of our long lost mis- 

27 



EXCURSIOIS" TO THE OREGOK'. 

sionaries. These we soon joined, and were met and received 
by tliem like brethren. Mr Nuttall and myself were invited to 
sup with them upon a dish of stewed hares which they had just 
prepared, and it is almost needless to say that we did full justice 
to the g-ood men's cookery. They told us that they had travelled 
comfortably from Fort Hall without any unusual fatig-ue, and 
like ourselves had no particularly stirring adventures. Their 
route, althoug'h somewhat longer, was a much less toilsome and 
difficult one, and they suffered but little for want of food, being 
well provided with dried buffalo meat, which had been pre- 
pared near Fort Hall." 

At Walla Walla, the party broke up into sections, some intend- 
ing to reach Fort Vancouver in one way, some in another. The 
missionaries had engaged a large barge to convey them from 
Walla Walla directly to Vancouver, down the Columbia river, 
and Mr Townsend and Mr Nuttall were anxious to go along with 
them ; but as the barge could not contain so many, they were 
obliged to travel on horseback to a point about eighty miles 
farther down the river, where Captain Wyeth engaged to wait 
for them and procure canoes to convey them to Vancouver. In 
the course of their land journey down the banks of the river^, 
they passed a village of the Walla Walla Indians, a tribe so 
remarkable for their honesty and moral dejiortment, that their 
conduct and habits amidst great privations shine in comparison 
with those of Christian communities. The river in this part is 
described as about three quarters of a mile wide — a clear, deep, 
and rapid stream. 

Having reached the appointed spot on the 10th of September, 
the travellers found the captain waiting with three canoes, each 
provided with an Indian helmsman, and on the 11 th they embarked 
and commenced their voyage down stream. They had hardly set 
sail, however, when the wind " rose to a heavy gale, and the waves 
ran to a prodigious height. At one moment our frail bark danced 
upon the crest of a wave, and at the next fell with a surge into 
the trough of the sea ; and as we looked at the swell before us, it 
seemed that in an instant we must inevitably be engulfed. At 
such times the canoe ahead of us was entirely hidden from view, 
but she was observed to rise again like the seagull, and hurry on 
into the same danger. The Indian in my canoe soon became 
completely frightened : he frequently hid his face with his hands, 
and sang in a lov/ melancholy voice a prayer which we had 
often heard from his people while at their evening devotions. 
As our dangers were every moment increasing, the man became 
at length absolutely childish, and with all our persuasion and 
threats we could not induce him to lay his paddle into the 
water. We were all soon compelled to put in shore, which we 
did without sustaining any damage ; the boats were hauled up 
high and dry, and we concluded to remain in our quarters until 
to-morrow, or until there was a cessation of the wind. In about an 

28 



EXCURSION TO THE OREGON. 

tour it lulled a little, and Captain Wyeth ordered the boats to 
he ag-ain launched, in the hope of being- able to weather a point 
about five miles below before the g-ale ag-ain commenced, where 
we could lie by until it should be safe to proceed. The calm 
proved, as some of us had suspected, a treacherous one : in a very 
few minutes after we got under way, we were contending' with 
the same difficulties as before, and again our cowardly helms- 
man laid by his paddle and began mumbling his prayer. It was 
too irritating to be borne. Our canoe had swung round broad- 
side to the surge, and was shipping gallons of water at every 
dash. 

At this time it was absolutely necessary that every man on 
"board should exert himself to the utmost to head up the canoe 
and make the shore as soon as possible. Our Indian, however, 
still sat with his eyes covered, the most abject and contemptible 
looking thing I ever saw. We took him by the shoulders and 
threatened to throw him overboard if he did not immediately 
lend his assistance : we might as well have spoken to a stone. 
He was finally aroused, however, by our presenting a loaded 
g-un at his breast. He dashed the muzzle away, seized his 
paddle again, and worked with a kind of desperate and wild 
energy until he sank back in the canoe completely exhausted. 
In the meantime the boat had become half-full of water, ship- 
ping a part of every surf that struck her ; and as Ave gained the 
shallows, every man sprang overboard, breast deep, and began 
hauling the canoe to shore. This was even a more difficult task 
than that of propelling her vrith the oars ; the water still broke 
over her, and the bottom was a deep kind of quicksand, in which 
we sank almost to the knees at every step, the surf at the same 
time dashing" against us with such violence as to throw us re- 
peatedly upon our faces. We at length reached the shore, and 
hauled the canoe up out of reach of the breakers. She was then 
unloaded as soon as possible, and turned bottom upwards. The 
w-oods had suffered considerably by the wettino- 5 they were all 
unbaled, and dried by a large fire which we built on the shore." 

For two or three days they were tossed about on the river, 
now attempting to make way, now forced to land ag'ain, and 
always drenched to the skin. The missionaries and their party, 
too, who had set out in the barge from Walla Walla, were in no 
better plight. On the 14th the three canoes were again loaded, 
and again made the attempt to proceed ; but in a short while one 
of them was stove, and another greatly damaged, so that they 
had to be unloaded and drawn out of the water. An effort was 
now made to procure one or two canoes with a pilot from an 
Indian village five miles below. This proved a hazardous and 
fatig-uing journey; but was rewarded by getting one canoe and 
several Indians to assist in the navigation. With this reinforce- 
ment, and with the boats mended, the party again attempted the 
descent of the river. The voyage this time was more fortunate, 

2S 



EXCURSION TO THE OREGON. 

and next day they all arrived at the fort, which was the end of 
their journey across the wilderness. The time occupied in this 
dang'erous expedition had been six months and three days. 
Unharmed by fatigue or accident, with a constitution strength- 
ened by healthful exercise, and a mind buoyant Avith the novelty 
of the scenes they had passed throug-h, the travellers felt sin- 
cerely thankful to that kind and overruling- Providence which 
had watched over and protected them. 

At Fort Vancouver, Mr Townsend left the trading part of the 
expedition, and procured a passage on board an American vessel, 
which carried him to the Sandwich Islands, and there he passed 
the winter months. He afterwards returned to the Columbia 
and its environs among the R9cky Mountains, to pursue his 
scientific researches ; and his purpose being at length fulfilled, 
he returned by sea, touching at Valparaiso on the South Ame- 
rican coast, and reached home after an absence of three years. 

It is gratifying to learn, that the researches of the two natu- 
ralists were eminently successful. Besides procuring specimens 
of many rare animals, Mr Townsend discovered in the course of 
his expedition about fifty-four new species, sixteen of which were 
quadrupeds, and twenty -eight birds. Mr Nuttall also made- 
many important additions to botanical science. 

THE OREGON TERRITORY. 

The large district of country on the Pacific, receiving the- 
name of Oregon, which can only be reached from the eastern 
settlements, as we have seen, by an incalculable degree of labour, 
is of uncertain dimensions, but is generally considered to extend 
from the 4'2d to the 64th degree of north latitude, and from the 
Rocky Mountains westward to the Pacific. From the moun- 
tains," the country presents a comparatively abrupt slope, con- 
sisting of immense belts or terraces, disposed one below the other 
to the sea, but here and there interrupted by hilly ridges. 
The higher regions are rocky, wild, and covered with forests of 
huge pmes an"d other trees ; in the lower grounds, the land is 
open and fertile, furnishing grasses and edible roots in great pro- 
fusion. 

Towards the south, where the country borders on Mexico, the 
climate is mild, but afflicted with a rainy season, which, com- 
mencing in October, does not end till April. The tempests of 
wind and rain which occasionally occur are terrible. Near the 
northern limit, the extremes of heat and cold are greater, the 
winters being intensely severe. The principal animals found in 
the territory are bears, wild horses, small deer, wolves, and 
foxes ; otters and beavers are plentiful on the banks of the rivers, 
whose waters abound with the finest salmon and seals. The 
Indian races are thinly scattered over this extensive region, 
and are not supposed to number more than 170,000 individuals. 

Little, however, is distinctly known of the Oregon. ' Few have 



EXCURSION TO THE OREGON. 

explored it except hunters. The attention of travellers has been 
chiefly coniined to the river Columbia or Oregon, the latter name 
having- been communicated to the country. This river, politically 
and commercially, is the g-reat point of attraction ; for from it is 
expected a means of descending- to the Pacific from the interior. 
The upper part of the river is formed by two main branches, 
winding- their way amidst the vallej^s of th||Rocky Mountains ; 
and the more southerly of these tributaries is said to reach to with- 
in 200 miles of the head waters of the Missouri. Formed by these 
and many smaller streams, the Oreg'on flows in a westerly direc- 
tion to the Pacific, pretty nearly dividing- the country into two 
equal parts. In a direct line, the space over which it runs is 650 
miles in breadth ; but as it winds considerably, the entire length 
df the river is probably as much as 1000 miles. 

According to the accounts of Townsend, Lewis and Clark, 
Washington Irving in his "Astoria," and others, the Oregon, 
though a large river, is exceedingly difficult of navigation, being- 
very various in breadth and force of current, impeded by rocks, 
islands, cascades, and rapids, and exposed to furious gusts of 
wind, against which no skill can afford protection. In some 
jilaces the banks are flat and marshj^, covered with trees and 
bushes which flourish only in swamps, and in others they are 
high and precipitous, hemming in the waters which dash to- 
and fro at their base. The bar or estuary is infested with 
breakers, which render the ingress and egress always hazardous ; 
the tide rises about eight and a half feet at the mouth, and 
ascends the stream about 160 miles. Vessels of 300 tons may 
reach the Multnomah branch, about sixty miles below the great 
falls, and sloops of small burden go up nearly to the rapids. 
Beyond this point all is difficulty and danger, and the smallest 
craft have to be taken from the stream, and carried over the 
numerous rocky impediments. 

The greatest of the falls is at about 180 miles above the 
mouth of the river. The first is a perpendicular cascade of 
twenty feet, after which there is a swift descent for a mile, be- 
tween islands of hard black rock, to another pitch of eight 
feet divided by two rocks. About two and a half miles below 
this the river expands into a wide basin, seemingly dammed up 
by a perpendicular edge of black rock. A current, however, 
sets diagonally to the left of this rocky barrier, where there is a 
chasm forty-five yards in width. Through this the whole body 
of the waters roars along, swelling', and whirling, and boiling'^ 
for some distance in the wildest confusion. Through this tre- 
mendous channel the first explorers of the river, Lewis and 
Clark, passed adventurously in their boats ; the danger not being 
from the rocks but from the g-reat surges and whirlpools. At 
the distance of a mile and a half from the foot of this narrovf 
channel is a rapid formed by two rockj^ islands ; and two miles 
beyond is a second great fall over a ledge of rocks twenty feet 

31 



EXCURSION TO THE OREGON. 

hig-h, extending- nearly from shore to shore. The river is ag-ain 
compressed into a channel from fifty to a hundred feet wide, 
worn through a rough bed of hard black rock, along- which it 
boils and roars with great fury for the distance of three miles. 
This is called the Long Narrows. Such are a few of the features 
of the Columbia or Oregon, as mentioned by Irving and other 
American writers ; '^e impression left on our minds, from all we 
have read on the subject, being that it is a river in its present 
condition of little commercial value ; and how many millions of 
pounds sterling would be required to provide its navigation with 
artifi.cial side-locks and channels, it would be presumptuous for 
us to say. 

The only establishments of the whites are the Hudson Bay 
Company's posts and settlements, and the missionary stations of 
the American Board of Foreign Missions, the country generally 
being still in possession of the native tribes. Fort Vancouver, 
the company's principal depot, stands on the north side of the 
river, 100 miles from its mouth, in the midst of fertile and 
beautiful prairies. The fort is merely a stockade, inclosing the 
company's buildings, surrounded by about fifty huts, occupied 
by the mechanics and labourers, with their Indian wives and 
slaves, who number in all about 800 persons. The stations of 
the American mission board are Astoria and Clatsop, both 
situated near the mouth of the river — the former on the north 
and the latter on the southern shore. Besides these there are 
various posts scattered over the interior ; latterly the territory has 
received a number of Anglo-American settlers from the states ; 
and from the enterprising character of that people, it seems not 
unlikely that in a fev/ years, in spite of every obstacle, it will be 
extensively settled upon by them. 

As is generally known, the United States prefer a claim to the 
g-reater part, if not the whole of the Oreg'on territory, while Great 
Britain disputes this title, and asserts a claim to at least joint 
occupancy, a right of navigating the Columbia, and of forming 
settlements and trading- posts in the country. To the British, 
with their feeble and cumbrous colonial policy, this far distant 
territory can never be anything but an engine of trouble and 
expense ; or at best, the mere resort of hunters and fur-traders, 
from whose feats the nation at large can derive little economical 
advantage. Even did it present an average field for emigration 
— whiclTis rendered more than dubious by the character both of 
the soil and climate — still, considering that it is between two and 
three thousand miles distant from the farthest verge of Western 
Canada, and of ver}- tedious and dangerous access by sea, it caji 
by no means form an acquisition of peculiar value to a country 
whose accessible 2:)ossessions are already so extensive. Viewed 
in Avhatever li^-ht, it is exceedingly desirable that the conflicting 
claims of the British and United'States governments respecting 
the Oregon were amicably and speedily adjusted. 



lldlM^A 




MRS MACCLARTY. 

SCENES FROM THE "COTTAGERS OF GLENBURNIE." 

-^^ N a beautiful morning' in summerj Mrs Mason, a lady 
\^ who had led an active and useful life, but now was 
i;^ desirous of retiring- for the sake of her health to a 
pleasant part of the country, arrived at the village of 
Glenburnie. Situated near the head of a glen, or romantic 
|m valley, the village was small and picturesque, but, like too 
y^^^s many villages and hamlets in Scotland, it showed that 
^^ nothing' was done to make it neat, cleanly, or attractive. It 
consisted of about twenty or thirty thatched cottages, which, but 
for their chimneys, and the smoke that issued from them, might 
have passed for so many stables or hogsties, so little had they to 
distinguish them as the dwellings of man. That one horse, at 
least, was the inhabitant of every dwelling, there was no room to 
doubt, as every door could not only boast its dunghill, but had a 
small cart stuck up on end directly before it ; which cart, though 
often broken, and always dirty, seemed ostentatiously displayed 
as a proof of wealth. 

In the middle of the village stood the kirk, a humble edifice, 
which meekly raised its head but a few degrees above the neigh- 
bouring houses, ornamented, however, by two old ash-trees, 
which grew at its east end, and spread their protecting arms over 
its lowly roof. As the houses of the village stood separate from 
each other, at the distance of many yards, our traveller had time 
to contemplate the scene, and was particularly struck with the 
number of children who, as the car advanced, poured forth to 
look at Mrs Mason and her friends, Mr and Miss Mary Stewart, 
No. 46. 1 



MRS MACCLAHTY, 

wlio accompanied her in their car. Mrs Mason having- pre- 
viously arrano:ed to stay for a short time in the village wrch the 
only relation she had in the world, who was married to a farmer 
named John Macclarty, she now asked for the house of that 
worthy, and after a severe jolting- from the badness of the road, 
vras set down opposite his door. 

It must be confessed that the aspect of the dwelling where she 
was to fix her residence was by no means inviting. The walls 
were substantial — built of stone and lime — but they were 
blackened by the mud which the cart-wheels had spattered from 
the ruts in winter ; and on one side of the door they were covered 
from view by the contents of a large dunghill. '^On the other, 
and directly under the window, w^as a squashy pool, formed by 
the dirty water thrown from the house, and in it about twenty 
young ducks were at this time dabbling. 

At the threshold of the door, room had been left for a paving- 
stone, but it had never been laid ; and consequently the place 
became hollow, to the great advantage of the younger ducklings, 
which always found in it a plentiful supply of water, in which 
they could swim without danger. Happily'- Mr Stewart was 
provided with boots, so that he could take a firm step in it, while 
he lifted Mrs Mason, and set her down in safety within the 
threshold. But there an unforeseen danger awaited her; for 
there the great whey-pot had stood since morning, when the 
cheese had been made, and was at the present moment filled with 
chickens, busily picking at the bits of curd which had hardened 
on the sides, and cruelly mocked their wishes. Over this Mr 
Stewart and Mrs Mason unfortunately tumbled. The pot was 
overturned, and the chickens, cackling with hideous din, flew 
about in all directions, some over their heads, and others makings 
their way by the inner door into the house. 

The accident was attended Avith no further bad consequences 
thai^ a little hurt upon the shins ; and all our party were now 
assembled in the kitchen ; but though they found the doore of 
the house open, they saw no appearance of any inhabitants. At 
length Mrs Macclarty came in all out of breath, followed by 
her daughters, two big girls of eleven and thirteen years of ag'e.-, 
She w^elcomed Mrs Mason and her friends with great kindness, 
and made many apologies for being in no better order to receive 
them ; but said that both her gudeman and herself thought that 
her cousin would have stayed with Mr StCAvart at Gowan-brae till 
after the fair, as they were too far off at Glenburnie to think of 
going to it, though it would, to be sure, be only natural for Mrs 
Mason to like to see all the grand sights that were to be seen 
there ; for, to be sure, she would gang mony places before she 
saw the like. Mrs Mason smiled, and assured her she would 
have more pleasure in looking at the fine view from her door 
than in all the sights at the fair. 

" Ay, it's a bonny piece of corn, to be sure," returned Mrs 

2 



MRS MACCl^ARTT.- 

Macclarty with great simplicity ; ^^ but then, what with the 
trees, and rocks, and wimplings o' the burn, we have nae room 
to make parks o' ony size." . 

" But were your trees, and rocks, and wimplings of the burn 
all removed," said Mr Stewart, " then your prospect would be 
worth the looking at, Mrs Macclarty; would it not?" 

Though Mr Stewart's irony was lost upon the good woman, it 
produced a laugh among the young folks, which she, however, 
did not resent, but immediately fell to busying herself in sweep- 
ing- the hearth, and adding turf to the fire, in order to make the 
kettle boil for tea. 

" I think," said Miss Mary, "you might make your daughters 
save you that trouble," looking at the two girls, who stood all 
this time leaning against the wall. 

" O poor things," said their mother, '•' they have not been used 
to it ; they have eneugh of time for wark yet." 

" Depend upon it," said Mrs Mason, "young* people can never 
begin too soon \ your eldest daughter there will soon be as tall as 
yourself." 

" Indeed she's of a stately growth," said Mrs Macclarty, 
pleased with the observation ; " and Jenny there is little ahint 
her ; but what are they but bairns yet for a' that X In time, I 
warrant, they'll do weel eneugh. Meg can milk a cow as weel 
as I can do, when she likes." 

"And does she not always like to do all she can?" said Mrs 
Mason. 

" O, we manna complain," returned the mother ; " she does 
weel eneugh." 

The gawky girl now began to rub the wall up and down with 
her dirty lingers ; but happily the wall was of too dusky a hue 
to be easily stained. And here let us remark the advantage 
[which our cottages in general possess over those of our southern 
neighbours, theirs being so whitened up that no one can have 
the comfort of lajnng* a dirty hand upon them without leaving 
the impression ; an inconvenience which reduces people to the 
necessity of learning to stand upon their legs, without the 
assistance of their hands ; whereas in our country, custom has 
rendered the hands in standing at a door, or in going up or 
down a stair, no less necessary than the feet, as may be plainly 
seen in the tinger-marks which meet one's eye in all directions. 

While Mrs Macclai-ty was preparing tea for her guests, Mrs 
Mason cast her exploring" eye on the house and furniture. She 
soon saw that the place they were in served in the triple capacity 
of kitchen, parlour, and bedroom. Its furniture was suitably 
abundant. It consisted, on one side, of a dresser, over which 
were shelves hlled v,-ith plates and dishes, which she supposed to 
be of pewter; but they had been so bedimmed by the quantities 
of flies that sat upon them, that she could not pronounce with 
certainty as to the metal they were made of. On the shelf that 

3 



MRS MACCLARTY. 

projected immediately next the dresser was a number of delf and 
wooden bowls, of different dimensions, with horn spoons, &c. 
These, though arranged with apparent care, did not entirely 
conceal from view the dirty nightcaps and other articles that 
were stuffed in behind. 

Opposite the fireplace were two beds, each enclosed in a sort of 
wooden closet, so firmly built as to exclude the entrance of a 
breath of air, except in front, where were small folding-doors, 
which were now open, and exhibited a quantity of yarn hung up 
in bunches — affording proof of the goodwife's industry. The 
portable furniture, as chairs, tables, &c. were all, though clumsy, 
of good materials ; so that Mrs Mason thought the place wanted 
nothing but a little attention to neatness, and some more light, 
to render it tolerably comfortable. 

Miss Mary Stewart took upon herself the trouble of making- 
tea, and began the operation by rinsing all the cups and saucers 
through warm water ; at which Mrs Macclarty was so far from 
being offended, that the moment she perceived her intention she 
stepped to a huge Dutch press, and having with some difficulty 
opened the leaves, took from a store of nice linen, which it pre- 
sented to their view^ a fine damask napkin, of which she begged 
her to make use. 

" You have a noble stock of linen, cousin," said Mrs Mason. 
" Few farmers' houses in England could j)roduce the like 5 but I 
think this is rather too fine for common use." 

" For common use ! " cried Mrs Macclarty ; " na, na, we're no 
sic fools as put our napery to use ! I have a dizen table-claiths 
in that press thirty years auld, that were never laid upon a 
table. They are a' 0' my mother's spinning. I have nine.o' my 
ain makin' forbye that never saw the sun but at the boukin 
washin. Ye needna be telling us 0' Eng'land ! " 

" It is no doubt a good thing," said Mrs Mason, ^' to have a 
stock of goods of any kind, provided one has a prospect of turn- 
ing them to account ; but I confess I think the labour unpro- 
fitably emploj'-ed which, during' thirty years, is to produce no 
advantage ; and that linen of an inferior quality would be pre- 
ferable, as it would certainly be more useful. A towel of nice 
clean huck-a-back would v/ipe a cup as well, and better, than a 
damask napkin." , 

"Towels!" cried Mrs Macclarty; "na, na, we manna pretend 
to towels; we just wipe up the things wi' what comes in the 
gait." 

On saying this the good woman, to show how exactly she 
practised what she spoke, pulled out from between the seed-tub 
and her husband's dirty shoes (which stood beneath the bench 
by the fireside) a long blackened rag, and with it rubbed one of 
the pewter plates, with which she stepped into the closet for a 
roll of butter. " There," says she, " I'm_ sure ye'll say that ye 
never ate better butter in vour life. There's no in a' Glenburnie 
4 



MRS MACCLAHTY. 

better kve than ours. I hope jell eat heartily, and Vm sure 
ye're heartily welcome." 

" Look, sister," cried little William, "see, there are the marks 
of a thumb and two fingers ! do scrape it off, it is so nasty !" 

" Dear me," said ]Mrs Macclarty, " I didna mind that I had 
been stirring the fire, and my hands were a wee sooty ; but it 
will soon scrape aff ; there's a dirty knife will take it aff in a 
minute." 

'•' Stop, stop," cried Miss Mary, " that knife will only make it 
worse ; pray, let me manage it myself." 

She did so manage it that the boys, who were very hungry, 
contrived to eat it to their oat-cakes with great satisfaction ; but 
though 3Irs Mason made the attempt, the disgust with which. 
she began was so augmented by the sight of the numerous hairs 
which, as the butter was spread, bristled up upon the surface, 
that she found it impossible to proceed. 

Here, thought she, is a home in which peace and plenty seem 
to reign, and yet these blessings, which I thought invaluable, 
will not be sufficient to afford me any comfort, from the mere 
want of attention to the article of cleanliness. But may I not 
remedy this ? She looked at ]Mrs Macclarty, and in the mild 
features of a face which, notwithstanding all the disadvantages 
of slovenly dress and four days'* soil (for this was Thursday), was 
still handsome, she thought she perceived a candour that might 
be convinced, and a good nature that would not refuse to act 
upon conviction. Of the countenances of the two girls she could 
not judge so favourably. The elder appeared morose and sullen, 
and the younger stupid and insensible. She was confirmed in 
her opinion by observing that, though their mother had several 
times desired them to go to the field for their father, neither of 
them stirred a step. 

" Do you not hear your mother speaking to you V' said Mr 
Stewart in a tone of authority. The eldest coloured, and hung 
down her head ; the younger girl looked in his face with a stupid 
stare, but neither of them made any answer. 

" Ye'll gang, I ken, my dear," said Mrs ]Macclarty, addressing 
herself to the younger ; " oh ay, I ken ye'll gang, like a good 
bairn, Jean." 

Jean looked at her sister ; amd Mrs Macclarty, ashamed of 
their disobedience, but still willing to palliate the faults which 
her own indulgence had created, said, '■ that indeed they never 
liked to leave her, poor things ! they were so bashful ; but that 
in time they would do weel eneugh.'" 

" They will never do well if they disobey their mother," said 
]Mr Stewart ; '• you ought to teach your children to obey you, 
Mrs Macclarty, for their sakes as well as for your own. Take 
my word for it, that if you don't, they, as w ell as you, will suffer 
from the consequences. But come, boys, we shall go to the 
field ourselves, and see how the farmer's work goes on." 

5 



MRS MACCLARTY. 

Mrs Macclarty, g-lad of his proposal, went to the door to point 
the way. Having' received her directions, Mr Stewart, pointing" 
to the pool at the threshold, asked her how she could bear to 
have such dirty doors, " Why does not your husband fetch a 
stone from the quarry?" said he. "People who are far from 
stones and from gravel may have some excuse, but you have 
the materials within your reach, and by half a day's labour 
could have your door made clean and comfortable. How, then, 
can you have gone on so long with it in this condition V " In- 
deed I kenna, sir," said IMrs Macclarty ; " the gudeman just 
canna be fashed." 

" And cannot you be fashed to go to the end of the house to 
throw out your dirty water? Don't you see how small a drain 
would from that carry it down to the river, instead of remaining 
-here to stagnate, and to suffocate you with intolerable stench?" 

" Oh, we're just used to it," said Mrs Macclarty, " and we 
never mind it. We couldna be fashed to gang sae far wi' a' the 
slaistery." 

" But what," returned Mr Stewart, " will Mrs Mason think of 
all this dirt ? She has been used to see things in a very different 
sort of order ; and if you will be advised by her, she will put 
you upon such a method of doing everything about your house 
as will soon give it a very different appearance." 

" Ay," said Mrs Macclarty, " I aye feared she would be owre 
nice for us. She has been sae lang amang the English, that she 
maun hae a hantel o' outlandish notions. But we are owre auid 
to learn, and we just do weel eneugh." 

Mr Stewart shook his head, and followed his sons, who had by 
this time disengaged the gate from the post, to which it had 
been attached by an old cord of many knots. 

While Mr Stewart had been engaging the farmer's wife in 
conversation at the door, his daughter had been earnestly ex- 
horting Mrs Mason to return to Gowan-brae, and to give up all 
thoughts of remaining in a situation in which she could not 
probably enjoy any degree of comfort ; but her arguments made 
no impression. Mrs Mason adhered inflexibly to her resolution 
of making a trial of the place; and on Mrs Macclarty's entrance, 
begged to see the room she was to occupy. 

"That you sall,^ said Mrs Macclarty; "but, indeed, it's no 
in sic order as I could wish, for it's cram fou o' woo : it was put 
in there the day of the sheep-shearing', and we have never ta'en 
the fash to put it by ; for, as I said before, we did not expect my 
cuisin till after the fair." She then opened the door that was 
placed in the middle, exactly between the two beds, the recesses 
of which formed the entry of the dark passage, through which 
they groped their way to the spens, or inner apartment, which 
was nearly of the same size as the kitchen. Mrs Mason was 
prepared for seeing the fleeces, which were piled up in tlie middle 
of the floor, but was struck with dismay at the fusty smell, 



MRS MACCLARTY. 

which denoted the place to be without any circulation of air. 
She immediately advanced to the window, with the intention of 
opening" it for relief. But, alas ! it was not made to open ; and 
she heard for her comfort that it was the same with all the other 
windows in the house. The bed, which was opposite to it, was 
shut up on three sides, like those in the kitchen. At the foot 
was a dark closet, in which Mrs Mason's trunks were already 
placed. Between the window and the fireplace was a large 
chest of drawers, of mahog-any ; and on the other side the 
window an eight-day clock in a mahogany case. The backs of 
the chairs were of the same foreign wood, betokening no saving 
of expense ; yet, upon the whole, all had a squalid and gloomy 
aspect. 

Mrs Macclarty tossed down the bed to show the fineness of 
the ticking and the abundance of the blankets, which she took care 
to tell were all of her own spinning-. She received the expected 
tribute of applause for her good housewifery, though Mrs Mason 
could not help observing to her what a risk she ran of having- it 
all lost for want of air. " See the proof of what I say," said she, 
" in that quantity of moths ! they will soon leave you little to 
boast of your blankets !" 

" Moths !" repeated Mrs Macclarty, ^^ there never was sic a 
sight o' moths as in this room ; we are j mrt eaten up wi' them ; 
and I'm sure I kenna how they can win in, for no ae breath o' 
wind ever blew here !" 

"That is just the thing that induces them to breed in this 
place," returned Mrs Mason. " Plenty of air would soon rid you 
of the grievance. Since the window is unfortunately fast, I must 
beg to have a fire kindled here as soon as your maid comes from, 
the hay-field." 

" A fire !" repeated Mrs Macclarty ; " I thought you Lad fund 
it owre warm." 

" It is not to increase the heat that I ask for a fire," returned 
Mrs Mason, " but to increase the circulation of air. If the 
doors are left open, the air will come sweeping in to feed the 
fire, and the room will by that means be ventilated, whicli 
it greatly stands in need of. I can at present breathe in it no 
longer." 

By the help of Miss Mary's %j'm Mrs Mason got out into the 
open air, and gladly assented to her friend's proposal of taking a 
view of the garden, which lay at the back of the house. On 
going to the wicket by which it entered, they found it broken, 
so that they were obliged to wait until the stake which propped 
it was removed. Nor was this the only difficulty they had to 
encounter; the path, which was very narrow, was damp, by 
sippings from the dirty pool ; and on each side of it the ground 
immediately rose, and the docks and nettles which covered it con- 
sequently grew so high, that they had no alternative but to walk 
sideways or to separate. 



MRS MACCLARTY. 

"Ye'll see a bonny garden if ye gang* on,*' said Mrs Mac- 
clarty ; '^ my son's unco proud o't." 

" I wonder your son can let these weeds grow here so rank,"' 
said Miss Mary ; " I think if he is proud of the garden, he 
should take some pains to make the entrance to it passable." 

" Oh, it does weel eneugh for us," returned the contented 
mother. " But saw ye ever sic line suthernwood, or sic a bed of 
thyme? We have twa rose-bushes down yonder too, but we 
canna get at them for the nettles. My son gets to them by 
speeling the wa' ; but he would do onything for flowers. His 
father's often angry at the time he spends on them." 

" Your husband, then, has not much taste for the garden, I 
suppose?" said Mrs Mason; '■ and indeed so it appears, for here 
is ground enough to supplj' a large family with truit and vege- 
tables all the year round ; but I see scarcely anything but 
cabbages and weeds." 

" Na, na, we have some leeks too," said Mrs Macclarty ; "and 
green kail in winter in plenty. "\Ye dinna pretend to kick- 
shaws ; green kail's gude eneugh for us." 

" But," said Miss Mary, " any one may pretend to what they 
can produce by their own labour. Were your children to dress 
and weed this garden, there might be a pretty walk ; there you 
might have a plot of green peas, there another of beans ; and 
under your window you might have a nice border of flowers to 
regale you with their sweet smell. They might do this, too, at 
very little trouble." 

" Ay, but they canna be fashed," said Mrs Macclarty ; " and 
it does just weel eneugh." 

Mv Stewart now appeared, and with him the farmer, who 
saluted Mrs ]\Iason with a hearty welcome, and pressed all the 
part}' to go in and taste his whisky, to prevent, , as he said, the 
tea from doing' them any harm. As the car was now ready, Mr 
Stewart begged to be excused from accepting the invitation ; 
and after laying a kind injunction on Mrs Mason to consider no 
place so much her home as Gowan-brae, he set oft with his 
family on their return homewards. 

]\Irs Mason, unwilling to give trouble, and anxious not to 
disgust her new acquaintances by the appearance of fastidious- 
ness, gave no further directions* concerning her apartment than 
were barely necessary towards putting* it in a habitable state. 
This being done, she entered cheerfully into conversation with 
the farmer, whom she found possessed of much plain good sense, 
and a greater stock of information than she could have supposed 
witliin his reach. She was struck with the force and ration- 
ality of his observations on various subjects, and almost sorry 
when their chat was interrupted by a call to supper, which was 
now upon the table. It consisted, besides the family dishes of 
sowens and milk, of a large trencherful of new potatoes, the 
first of the season, and intended as a treat for the stranger. 

8 



MKS MACCLARTY. 

The farmer and his three sons sat down on one side, the g-ood- 
wife and her two daughters on the other, leaving" the arm-chair 
st the head for Mrs Mason, and a stool at the foot for Grizzj, 
who sat with her back to the table, only turning round occa- 
sionally to help herself. 

When all were seated, the farmer, taking off a large blue 
bonnet, which, on account of his bald crown, he seldom parted 
with through the day, and looking round to see that all were 
attentive, invited them to join in the act of devotion which pre- 
ceded every meal, by saying, " Let us ask a blessing." 

Mrs Mason, who had been so long accustomed to consider 
the standing posture as expressive of greater reverence, imme- 
diately stood up, but she was the only one that moved ; all the 
rest of the party keeping their seats, while the farmer, with 
^reat solemnity, pronounced a short but emphatic prayer. This 
being linished, Mrs Mason was desired to help herself; and 
such was the impression made by the pious thankfulness which 
breathed in the devotional exercise in which she had just 
engaged, that viands less acceptable to her palate would at that 
moment have been eaten with relish. The sowens were excel- 
lent ; the milk was sweet ; and the fresh-raised potatoes, burst- 
ing from the coats in which they had been boiled, might have 
feasted a queen. It is indeed ten thousand to one that any 
queen ever tasted of the first of vegetables in this its highest 
state of perfection. jNIrs Mason was liberal of her praise ; and 
both the farmer and his wife were highly gratified by her ex- 
pressions of satisfaction. 

The meal concluded, as it had begun, with prayer ; and Mrs 
Mason retired to her room under a full conviction that, in the 
society of people who so sincerely served and worshipped God, 
all the materials of happiness would be within her reach. 

Her bed appeared so inviting* from the delicate whiteness of 
the linen, that she hastened to enjoy in it the sweets of repose ; 
but no sooner had her head reached the pillow than she became 
sick, and was so overcome by a feeling of suffocation, that she 
was obliged to sit up for air. Upon examination, she found 
that the smell w^hich annoyed her proceeded from new feathers 
put into the pillow before they had been properly dried, and 
when they were consequently full of the animal oil, which, 
when it becomes rancid, sends forth an intolerable effluvia. 
Having removed the annoyance, and made of her clothes a 
bundle to support her head, she again composed herself to sleep ; 
but, alas ! in vain ; for the enemy by whom she was now 
attacked she found to be sworn against sleep. The assault was 
made by such numbers in all quarters, and carried on wdth such 
dexterity by the merciless and agile foe, that, after a few in- 
effectual attempts at offensive and defensive warfare, she at 
length resigned herself to absolute despair. The disgusting idea 
of want of cleanliness which their presence excited, was yet 

8 9 



MRS MACCLARTY. 

more insufferable than the piercing of their little fengs. But 
on recollecting' how long the room had been filled with the 
fleeces, she gladly flattered herself that they were only acci- 
dental guests, and that she might soon be able to effect their 
banishment. 

As day advanced, the enemy retired ; and poor Mrs Mason, 
fatigued and wearied, at length sunk to rest. Happily, she 
was undisturbed by the light; for though her window, which 
was exactly opposite to the bed, was not shaded by a curtain, 
the veil of dust which it had contracted in the eighteen years 
it had stood unwiped, was too thick to permit the rays of the 
sun to penetrate. 

As the clock struck eight she hastened out of bed, vexed 
at having lost so much of the day in sleep ; and on perceiv- 
ing, when about half-dressed, that she had in her room neither 
water nor hand-basin to wash in, she threw on her dimity 
bed-gown, and went out to the kitchen to procure a supply of 
these necessary articles. She there found Meg and Jean ; the 
former standing at the table, from which the porridg-e dishes 
seemed to have been just removed ; the latter killing flies at 
the window. Mrs Mason addressed herself to Meg-, and, after 
a courteous good-morrow, asked her where she should find a 
hand-basin ? "I dinna ken," said Meg, drawing her finger 
through the milk that had been spilled upon the table. " Where 
is your mother ?" asked Mrs Mason. "I dinna ken," returned 
Meg, continuing to dabble her hands through the remaining 
fragments of the feast. 

" If you are going to clean that table," said Mrs Mason, 
" you will give yourself more work than you need by daubing 
it all over with the porridge. Bring your cloth, and I shall show 
you how I learned to clean our tables when I was a little girl 
like you." 

Meg continued to make lines with her forefinger. 

" Come," said Mrs Mason, " shall I teach you ?" 

" Na," said Meg, " I shall dight nane o't. I'm ga'an to the 
schule." " But that need not hinder you to wipe up the table 
before you go," said Mrs Mason. " You might have cleaned it 
up as bright as a looking-glass in the time that you have spent 
in spattering it and dirtying your fingers. Would it not be 
pleasanter for you to make it clean than to leave it dirty?" 

" I'll no be at the fash," returned Meg, making off to the 
door as she spoke. Before she got out she was met by her 
mother, who, on seeing her, exclaimed, "Are ye no awa yet, 
bairns ! I never saw the like. Sic a fight to get you to the 
schule! Nae wonner ye learn little when you're at it. Gae 
awa, like good bairns ; for there's nae schulin' the morn, ye 
ken ; it's the fair day." 

Meg set off after some further parley; but Jean .continued to 
catch the flies at the window, taking no notice of her mother's 

10 



MRS MACCLARTY. 

exhortations, tlioug-h again repeated in pretty nearly the same 
terms. 

"Dear me!" said the mother, "what's the matter wi' the 
bairn ! what for winna ye gang- when Meg's gane 1 Rin, and 
ye'll be after her or she wins to the end o' the loan." 

" I'm no ga'an the day," says Jean, turning away her face. 
"And what for are ye no ga'an, my dear?" says her mother. 
" Cause I hinna gotten my questions," replied Jean. 

" Oh, but ye may gang for a' that," said her mother ; " the 
maister will no be angry. Gang, like a gude bairn." 

" Na," said Jean ; " but he will be angry, for I didna get them 
the last time either." 

"And what for didna ye get them, my dear?" said Mrs 
Macclarty in a soothing tone. " Cause 'twas unco kittle, and 
I couldna be fashed," replied the hopeful girl, catching, as she 
spoke, another handful of flies. Her mother, finding that in- 
treaties were of no avail, endeavoured to speak in a more peremp- 
tory accent, and even laid her commands upon her daughter to 
depart immediately: but she had too often permitted her com- 
mands to be disputed, to be surprised at their being now treated 
with disrespect. Jean repeated her determined purpose of not 
going to school that day ; and the firmer she became in opposi- 
tion, the authoritative tone of the mother gradually weakened ; 
till at length, by saying that " if she didna gang to the schule 
she sudna stand there," she acknowledged herself to be defeated, 
and the point to be given up. 

Mrs Mason, who had stood an unobserved spectator of this 
scene, was truly shocked at such a contempt of parental autho- 
rity as she believed must inevitably produce consequences of 
the most deplorable nature. She came forward, and stopping" 
the little girl as she was slinking out at the door, asked her 
" if she really meant to disobey her mother by staying from 
school?" Jean made no answer; but the indulgent mother, 
unwilling that any one should open her eyes to that to which 
she resolved to be blind, instantly made her spoilt child's 
apology, by observing that " the poor thing hadna gotten 
her questions, and didna like to gang, for fear o' the maister's 
anger." 

" But ought she not to have got her questions, as her master 
enjoined, instead of idling here all the morning?" said Mrs 
Mason. " ay," returned Mrs Macclarty, " she sud hae gotten 
her questions, nae doubt ; but it was unco fashions, and ye see 
she hasna a turn that gait, poor woman ! but in time she'll do 
weel eneugh." 

" Those who w^ait till evening for sunrise," said Mrs Mason, 
" will find that they have lost'the day. If you permit your 
daughter, while a child, to disobey her parent and her teacher, 
she will never learn to obey her God. But perhaps I interfere 
too far. If I do, you must forgive me ; for, with the strong 

u 



MRS MACCLAETY. 

impression which I have upon my mind of the consequences 
of a right education, I am tempted to forget that my advice 
may sometimes be unacceptable." 

" Hoot," said Mrs Macclarty, who did not perfectly compre- 
hend the speech, "maidens' bairns are aye weel bred, ye ken, 
cuisin ; but I fear ye hinna sleepit weel, that je have been sae 
lang- o' rising. It's a lang time since the kettle has been boiling 
for your breakfast." 

" I shall be ready for it very soon," said Mrs Mason ; " but 
I came in search of a basin and water, which Grizzy has forgot 
■to put in my room ; and until I wash, I can proceed no further 
in dressing myself." 

" Dear me," replied Mrs Macclarty, " I'm sure you're weel 
€neugh. Your hands hae nae need of washing, I trow. Ye 
ne'er do a turn to file them." 

"You can't surely be in earnest^" replied Mrs Mason. "Do 
you think I could sit down to breakfast with unwashed hands ? 
I never heard of such a thinor, and never saw it done in my 
life." ^ 

" I see nae gude o' sic nicety," returned her friend ; " but it 
is easy to gie ye water eneugh, though I'm sure I dinna ken 
what to put it in, unless ye tak ane o' the parridge plates : or 
maybe the calf's luggie may do better, for it'll gie you eneugh 
o' room." 

" Your own basin will do better than either," said Mrs Mason : 
" give me the loan of it for this morning, and I shall return it 
immediately, as you must doubtless often want it through the 
day." " Na, na," returned Mrs Macclarty; " I dinna fash wi' 
sae mony fykes. There's aye water standing in something or 
other for ane to ca' their hands through when they're blacket. 
The gudeman indeed is a wee conceity like yoursel', an' he coft 
a brown basin for his shaving in on Saturdays, but it's in use 
a' the week haddin' milk, or I'm sure ye'd be welcome to it. I 
shall see an' get it ready for you the morn." 

Poor Mrs Mason, on whose nerves the image i^resented by 
this description of the alternate uses of the utensil in question 
produced a sensible effect, could scarcely command voice to 
thank her cousin for her civil offer. Being, however, under the 
necessity of choosing for the present, she without hesitation 
preferred the calf's bicker to the porridge plate : and indeed 
considered the calf as being so much the cleanlier animal than 
his mistress, that she would in every way have preferred him 
for an associate. 

Mrs Mason was not ill pleased to find that she was to break- 
fast by herself; the rest of the family having long ago finished 
their morning repast, were now eng*aged in the several occu- 
pations of the day. 

Tlie kail-pot was already on the fire to make broth for dinner, 
and Mrs Macclarty busied in prej)aring the vegetables which 

12 



MRS MACCLARTY. 

were to be boiled in it, wlien her guest, on hearing* her desire 
Grizzel to make haste and sit down to her wheel, thouorht it 
time to remind her that her bed was still to make, and her 
room to be put in order, and that Grizzy's assistance would be 
necessary for both. 

It was not easy to persuade the good woman that it would 
not be time enough in the dusk of the evening; but as Mrs 
Mason declared it" essential to her comfort, Grizzy was ordered 
to attend her, and to do whatever she desired. By her direc- 
tions the stout girl fell to work, and hoisted out the bed and 
bed-clothes, which she carried to the barn-yard, the only place 
about the house where there was a spot of green grass. The 
check curtains followed, and in their removal effected the sudden 
ruin of many a goodly cobweb which had never before met 
with the smallest molestation. When the lower vallance was 
removed, it displayed a scene still more extraordinary ; a hoard 
of the remains of all the old shoes that had ever been worn by 
any member of the family, staves of broken tubs, ends of decayed 
rope, and a long et cetera of useless articles, so covered with 
blue mould and dust, that it seemed surprising the very spiders 
did not quit the colony in disgust. 

Mrs Mason sickened at the sight. Perceiving what an un- 
pleasant task she should be obliged to impose on her assistant, 
she deemed herself in justice bound to recompense her for the 
trouble ; and holding up a half-crown piece, told her that if 
she performed all she required of her on the present occasion 
it should be her own. No sooner was Grizzy made certain of 
the reward, which had till now been promised in indefinite 
terms, than she began in such good earnest, that Mrs Mason 
was glad to get out of the room. After three large bucketfuls 
of dirt and trumpery had been carried out, she came to Mrs 
Mason for fresh instructions ; then proceeded to wash the bed- 
posts with soap and water ; after which the chairs, the tables, 
the clock-case, the very walls of the room, as well as everything 
it contained, all underwent a complete cleaning. 

The window, in which were nine tolerably large panes of 
glass, was no sooner rendered transparent, than Grizzy cried 
out iu ecstacy, " that she cou'dna have thought it would have 
made sic a change. Dear me ! how heartsome it looks now to 
what it used ! " said the girl, her spirits rising in proportion to 
the exertion of her activity. 

" And in how short a time has it been cleaned ! " said Mrs 
Mason. " Yet, had it been regularly cleaned once a-week, as 
it ought to have been, it would have cost far less trouble. By 
the labour of a minute or two we may keep it constantly bright ; 
and surely few days pass in which so much time may not be 
spared. Let us now go to the kitchen window, and make it 
likewise clean." Grizzy with alacrity obeyed. But before the 
window could be approached, it was found necessary to remove 

13 



MRS MACCLARTY. 

the heap of dusty articles piled up in the window-sill, which 
served the purpose of family library and repository of what is 
known by the term odds and ends. 

Mrs Macclarty, who had sat down to spin, did not at first 
seem willing* to take any notice of what was going* forward ; 
but on perceiving' her maid beg-inning- to meddle with the things 
in the window, she could no longer remain a neutral spectator 
of the scene. Stopping her wheel, she, in a voice indicating the 
reverse of satisfaction, asked what she was about ? Mrs Mason 
took it upon her to reply. '' We are going to make your 
windoAV bright and clean for you, cousin," said she. '• If you 
step into my room, and take a look of mine, you will see what 
a difference there is in it ; and this, if these broken panes were 
mended, would look every bit as well." " It does weel eneugh," 
returned Mrs Macclarty ; " it wants nae cleanin' ; it does just 
weel eneugh. What's the gude o' takin' up the lass's time wi^ 
nonsense ? she'll break the window too, and the bairns hae broken 
eneugh o' it already." 

" But if these panes were mended, and the window cleaned 
without and within," said Mrs Mason, " you cannot think how 
much more cheerful the kitchen would appear." 

" And how lang wad it bide clean if it were ?" said Mrs Mac- 
clarty ; " it would be as ill as ever or a month, and wha cou'd be 
at the fash o' aye cleanin' at it ?" 

" Even once a-month would keep it tolerable, but once a-week 
would keep it very nice ; your little girls might rub it bright of 
a morning, without the least trouble in the world. They might 
learn, too, to whiten the window-sill, and to keep it free from 
rubbish, by laying the books, and all these articles, in their pro- 
per places,*^instead of letting them remain here covered with dust. 
You cannot imagine what good it would do your youn^- people 
did they learn betimes to attend to such matters ; for believe me, 
cousin, habits of neatness, and of activity, and of attention, have 
a greater effect upon the temper and disposition than most people 
are aware of." 

" If my bairns do as weel as I hae done, they'll do weel 
eneugh," said Mrs Macclarty, turning her wheel with g-reat 
speed. Mr Macclarty's voice was just at that moment heard 
calling on Grizzy to drive the fowls out of the corn-field, which 
necessarily put a stop to all further proceedings against the 
window. Mrs Mason therefore returned to her own apartment; 
and, greatly pleased with the appearance which it now assumed, 
cheerfully sat down to her accustomed labours of the needle, of 
which she was such complete mistress, that it gave no interrup- 
tion to the train of her reflections. On taking a view of her 
present situation, and comparing it with the past, she carefully, 
suppressed evtvy feeling that could lead to discontent. She saw 
that the more nearly people approached each other in their 
habits and opinions, the less would the sacrifice be felt; but- 

14 



MRS MACCLARTY. 

while she entertained a hope of bein^ able to do more good in 
her present situation than she could in any other, she resolved 
to remain where she was. " Surely," said she to herself, " I must 
be of some use to the children of these g'ood people. They are 
ill brought up, but they do not seem deficient in understanding* ; 
and if I can once convince them of the advantage they will derive 
from listening" to my advice, I may make a lasting impression on 
their minds.'' 

While engaged by these reflections as she busily pursued her 
work, she was startled by a sudden noise, followed by an imme- 
diate diminution of light; and on looking up, perceived her 
window bespattered all over with mud. A tittering laugh 
betrayed the aggressors, and directed her attention to the side 
where they stood, and from which she knew they could not 
retreat without being seen. She therefore continued quietly on 
the watch, and in a little time saw Jean and her young*er brother 
issue from the spot, and hastily run down the bank that led to 
the river. 

Mrs Mason had been for above twenty years employed in 
studying' the tempers and dispositions of children ; but as she 
had never before seen an instance of what appeared to be unpro- 
voked malignity in the youthful mind, she was greatly shocked 
at the discovery, and thought it incumbent on her to inform 
their mother of the incident, and to give her opinion of it in the 
plainest terms. 

Mrs Macclarty, perceiving that Mrs Mason had something 
extraordinary to communicate, stopped her. wheel to listen ; and 
when the window was mentioned, asked, with great anxiety, 
whether it was broken ? " No," said Mrs Mason ; " the mud 
they threw at it was too soft to break the glass ; it is not to the 
injury done the window that I wish to call your attention, but 
to the dispositions of your children ; for what must the disposi- 
tions be that lead them to take pleasure in such an act?" 

" Hoot," said Mrs Macclarty, " is that it a'? — ane wou'd hae 
thought the window had been a' to shivers by the way you spoke. 
If it's but a wee darted, there's na sae muckle ill done. I tauld 
ye it was nonsense to be at sae muckle fash about it, for that it 
wou'dna get leave to bide lang' clean." 

". But if your children were better taught,'^ said Mrs Mason, 
" it might get leave to bide clean long enough. If the same 
activity which they have displayed in dirtying it had been 
directed into proper channels, your cottage might have been 
kept in order by their little hands, and your garden and all 
about your doors made neat and beautiful. Children are 
naturally active ; but unless their activity be early bent to useful 
purposes, it will only lead them into mischief. Were your 
children " 

''Hoot," said Mrs Macclarty peevishly, "my bairns are just 
like other folks'. A' laddies are fou o' mischief. I'm sure there's 

15 



MRS MACCLARTY. 

no a yard i' the town where they can get a flower or apple 
keepit for them. I wonder what ye would hae said if ye had 
seen the minister's yetts the day after they were painted 
slaked and blacket a' owre wi' dirt by the laddies frae the 
schule ? '' 

''I would have said/' returned Mrs Mason, "what I said 
before, that all that bent to mischief in the children arises from 
the neglect of the parents in not directing their activity into 
proper channels. Do you not think that each of these boys 
would, if properly trained, find as much amusement in works 
that would tend to ornament the village, or in cultivating a few 
shrubs and flowers to adorn the walls of their own cottages, as 
they now appear to find in mischief and destruction ? Do jou 
not think that that girl of yours might have been so brought up 
as to have had more pleasure in cleaning a window of her father's 
house than in bedaubing it Avith mud 1 Allowing the pleasure 
of being mischievously^ active, and the pleasure of being usefully 
active, to be at present equal, do you think that the consequences 
will not be diff'erent ? ' Train up a child in the way he should 
go,' says Solomon, and depend upon it that in the way you train 
him he will go, whether you desire it or not. If you permit a 
child to derive all his pleasure from doing ill to others, he will 
not, when he is grown up, be inclined to do much good. He 
will even from his youth be conscious of deserving the ill-will of 
his neighbours, and must of course have no good-will to them. 
His temper will thus be soured. If he succeed in life, he will be 
proud and overbearing-; if he do not, he Avill become sulky, and 
morose, and obdurate." 

" Weel," said the farmer, who had been listening to the latter 
part of the conversation, " it's a' true that ye say; but how is ifc 
to be helpit ? Do you think corrupt nature can be subdued in., 
ony other way than by the grace of God?" •■ • 

" If I read my Bible right," returned Mrs Mason, " the grace-' 
of God is a gift which, like all the other gifts of divine love, 
must be sought by the appointed means. It is the duty of a 
parent to put his children upon the way of thus seeking it, and^ 
as far as it is in his power, to remove the obstacles that would 
prevent it." 

"The minister himsel' could speak nae better," returned the 
farmer. " But when folks gie their bairns the best education in 
their power, what mair can they do ? " 

" In answer to your question," replied ]\Irs IMason, " I will 
put one to you. Suppose you had a field which produced only 
briers and thorns, what method would you take to bring it into- 
heart?" 

"' I would nae doubt root out the briers and thorns as wee! as 
I could," returned the farmer. 

"And after you had opened the soil by ploughing, and 
enriched it by the proper manure, you would sow good seed in it, 

16 



MRS MAGCLARTY. 

and expect, by the blessins: of Heaven, to reap in harvest thcf 
reward of your labours ? " said Mrs Mason. 

" To be sure I would," said the farmer. 

" And do you imagine," said Mrs Mason, '' that the human 
soul requires less care in culturing" it than is necessary to your 
iield t Is it merely by teaching- them to say their questions, or 
even teaching them to read, that the briers and thorns of pride 
and self-will will be rooted up from your children's minds 1 " 

" We maun trust a' to the grace of God," said the farmer. 

" God forbid that we should put trust in aught beside," 
returned Mrs Mason ; " but if we hope for a miraculous inter- 
position of divine gTace in favour of ourselves or of our children, 
without taking' the means that God has appointed, our hope does 
not spring' from faith, but from presumption. It is just as if you 
were neither to plough nor sow jouv fields, and yet expect that 
Providence would bless you with an abundant crop." 

" But what means ought we to use that we do not use 1 " said 
the farmer. " We send our bairns to the schule, and we tak 
them to the kirk, and we do our best to set them a good example. 
J kenna what we could do mair." 

" You are a good man," said Mrs Mason with complacency ; 
-'and happy will it be for your children if they follow your 
example. But let us drop all allusion to them in particular, 
and speak only of training up youth to virtue as a general 
principle. By what you say, you think it sufficient to sow the 
seed ; I contend for the necessity of preparing the soil to receive 
it; and say that, without such preparation, it will never take 
root nor vegetate." 

" I canna contradict you," returned the farmer ; " but I wish 
you to explain it better. If you mean that we ought to gie our- 
bairns lessons at hame, I can tell you we hae nae time for it, nor 
are we book-learned eneugh to make fine speeches to them, as 
the like of you might do ; and if we were, I fear it wad do little 
gude." 

" Believe me," replied Mrs Mason, " set lessons and fine 
harangues make no part of my plan of preparation, which 
consists of nothing else than a watchful attention to the first 
appearances of what is in its nature evil, and, whether it comes 
in the shape of self-will, passion, or perverseness, nipping it in 
the very bud ; while, on the other hand, I would tenderly cherish 
every kindly affection, and enforce attention to the feelings of 
others : by which means I would render children kind-hearted, 
tractable, and obedient. This is what I call the preparation of 
the soil : now, let us see the consequences. Supposing that, of 
two children, one has from infancy been accustomed to constant 
and cheerful obedience, while the other has never been taught to 
respect any will but his own ; which of those two, on being 
instructed in the divine precept, 'honour thy father and thy 
mother/ will be most likely to enter into the spirit of the com- 

17 



MBS MACCLARTY. 

mandment ? And what doth the g-ospel teach? Doth it not 
urge us to subdue all selfish and vindictive passions, in order that 
we may cherish the most perfect love to God and man? Now, if 
we have permitted our children to indulge these passions, how do 
we prepare them for practising the gospel precepts? Their duty 
to God and man requires that they should make the best use of 
every power of mind and body : the activity natural to youth is 
a power included in this rule ; and if we permit them to waste it 
in eiFecting mischief, and in destroying or disturbing the happi- 
ness of others, can we say that we are not counteracting the 
express will of our divine Master? How can we flatter ourselves 
that, with such habits, the divine precepts will make much im- 
pression on their minds?" 

Before Mrs Mason had finished her speech, her voice was 
drowned in the noise of a violent quarrel that had taken place 
between the farmer's two elder sons. Perceiving that the dispute 
would not be easily settled, she retired to her room, but was 
overtaken in the passage by Mrs Macclarty, who said in a 
whisper, " I hope ye'U say naething o' Jenny's playing the truant 
frae the schule. Her father mauna ken o't, he wad be sae . 
angry." "Alas!" said Mrs Mason, ''jou know not how much 
you are your child's enemy ; but 1 shall be silent." 

Mrs Mason enjoyed the reward of her exertions, and of 
Grizzel's labour, in a night of sweet and uninterrupted repose. 
She was awakened at early dawn by the farmer calling his sons 
to get up to prepare for the labours of the day ; and looking up, 
beheld the clouds already decked in the colours of the morning, 
inviting her to the most glorious sight on which the eye of man - 
can look. The invitation was not given in vain. She rose and 
dressed herself, and taking her staff and crutch, sallied from 
her room, earnestly wishing to escape observation. 

From the length of time that the outer door had been shut, the 
closeness of the house had become very unpleasant to her lungs. 
Welcome, therefore, was the reviving breeze of morning; wel- 
come the freshness of the coming day, which now burst upon 
her senses. It was not, indeed, until she had removed some paces . 
from the house that she fully felt its influence ; for while near 
the door, the smell of the squashy pool, and its neighbour, the 
dunghill, was so powerful, as to subdue the fragrance of earth's 
fruits and flowers. 

Having' taken the road towards the river, she, on its first 
turning, found herself in full view of the waterfall, and was 
arrested by admiration at the many beauties of the scene. 
Seating herself upon a projecting rock, she contemplated the 
efl'ulgent glory of the heavens as they brightened into splendour 
at the approach of the lord of day ; and when her eyes were 
dazzled by the scene, turned, to view the living waters pouring 
their crystal flood over the craggy precipice, shaded by the 
spreadins: boughs of birch and alder. 

18 



MRS MACCLARTY, 

While indulging: in the grateful feelings of her heart, by 
sending up her tribute of praise to the Almighty Giver of all 
good, her ears were suddenly assailed by the harsh sound of 
discord ; and on moving a few steps, she discovered that a violent 
dispute had taken place between the farmer and his eldest son. 
In the hope of making peace, she advanced towards them ; but 
before she turned the corner she paused, doubting whether it 
were not better to take no notice of having heard the fray. 
The voices ceased, and proceeding, she saw the farmer hastily 
unsaddling' a horse, and the son at the same moment issuing 
from the door, but pulled back by his mother, who held the skirt 
of his coat, saying, " I tell ye, Sandy, ye mauna gang to anger 
your father." 

" But I sail gang,'' cried Sandy in a sullen tone ; " I winna 
be hindered. I sail gang, I tell ye, whether my father likes or 
no." 

" Ye may gang, ye doure loon," says the father ; " but if ye 
do, ye sail repent it as lang as ye live." 

" Hoot na," returned the mother, " ye'U forgie him ; and 
ye had as weel let him gang, for ye see he winna be hin- 
dered!" 

" Where is the young man for going to 1 " asked Mrs Mason. 

"Where sud he be for gain' to but to the fair?" returned the 
mother ; " it's only natural. But our gudeman's unco particular, 
and never lets the lads get ony daffin." 

"Baffin! "cried the farmer; " is druckenness daffin? Didna 
he gang last year, and come hame as drunk as a beast ! And ye 
wad hae him tak the brown mare too, without ever speering my 
leave ! saddled and bridled too, forsooth, like ony gentleman in 
the land ! But ye sail baith repent it : I tell ye ye'se baith 
repent it." 

Mrs Mason endeavoured to dissuade the young man from 
going to the fail', but in vain ; and he was left to pursue his own 
wilful course. 

'^ Mistress ! " hallooed the voice of Grizzel from the house, " I 
wish ye wad come and speak to Meg. She winna be hindered - 
putting' her fingers in the kirn, and licking the cream." 

" If I were at you," cried Mrs Macclarty, " I'd gar you " 

She was as good as her word; and in order to show Mrs 
Mason the good effect of her advice, she ran that moment into 
the kitchen, and gave her daughter a hearty slap upon the back. 
The girl went a few steps farther off, and deliberately applied 
her tongue to the back of her hand, where part of the cream was 
still visible. 

" Go ! ye idle whippy ! " said her mother, " and let me see how 
weel ye'll ca' the kirn." 

" I winna kirn the day," returned Meg ; " I'm gaun to milk 
the kye. Jean may kirn ; she has naething else to do." 

" I'm aye set to kirn," says Jean whimpering. " I never saw 

19 



3IRS MACCLARTY. 

sic wark. I tell ye I winna kirn mair than Meg*. Grizzy can 
milk the cows hersel'. She doesna want her help." 

" But, girls,'' said Mrs Mason, " when I was a little girl like 
either of you, I never thought of choosing my work ; I con- 
sidered it my business to follow my mother's directions. Young 
people ought to obey, and not to dictate." 

" Hear ye that ? " said Mrs Macclarty. " But Jean will gang 
to the kirn, I ken, like a good bairn ; and she sail get a dad o' 
butter to her bread." 

" But I winna hae't frae the hairing knife," said Jean, " for 
the last I got stack i' my throat." 

" Bless me !" cried Mrs Mason in amazement, " how does youi* 
butter come to be so full of hairs 1 where do they come from ? " 

" Oh, they are a' frae the cows," returned Mrs Macclarty. 
" There has been lang* a hole in the milk sythe, and I have never 
been at the fash to get it mended ; but as I tak aye care to sythe 
the milk through my fingers, I wonder how sae mony hairs 
win in." 

" Ye needna wonder at that," observed Grizzel, " for the house 
canna be soopit but the dirt flees into the kirn." 

" But do you not clean the churn before you put in the 
cream 1 " asked Mrs Mason, more and more astonished. 

" Na, na," returned Mrs Macclarty, " that wadna be canny, 
ye ken. Naebody hereabouts would clean their kirn for ony 
consideration. I never heard o' sic a thing i' my life." 

Mrs Mason found it diificult to conceal the disgust which this 
discovery excited ; but resolving to be cautious of giving offence 
by the disclosure of her sentiments, she sat down in silence, to 
watch the further operations of the morning. While Jean was 
slowly turning the churn with unwilling hand, her mother was 
busily employed in making the cheese. Part of the milk des- 
tined to that purpose was already put upon the fire in the same 
iron pot in which the chickens had been feasting, and on which 
the hardened curd at which they had been picking was still 
visible towards the rim. The remainder of the milk was turned 
into a large tub, and to it that upon the fire was added as soon 
as it was of a proper heat. So far all was done well and 
cleverly. Mrs Macclarty then took down a bottle of runnet, or 
yearning, as she called it ; and having poured in what she 
thoughts sufficient quantity, tucked up the sleeve of her gown, 
and dashing in her arm, stirred the infusion with equal care 
and speed. 

" I believe, cousin," said Mrs Mason hesitatingly, " I believe 
— you forgot to wash your hands." 

" Hoot !" returned the goodwife, " my hands do weel eneugh. 
I canna be fashed to clean them at ilka turn." 

" But you go about your work with such activity," rejoined 
Mrs Mason, " that I should think it would give you little 
trouble, if you were once accustomed to it : and by all that I 

20 



MRS MACCLARTY. 

have observed, and I have had many opportunities of observation, 
I believe that, in the management of a dairy, cleanliness is the 
first, the last, the one art needful.*' 

" Cleanly !" repeated Mrs Macelarty ; " nae ane ever said 
that I wasna cleanly. There's no a mair cleanly person i' the 
parish. Cleanly indeed! ane wad think ye was speaking- to a 
bairn !" 

Mrs Mason offered a few words in explanation, and then 
retired to her own apartment, to which she saw it would be 
necessary to confine herself, in order to enjoy any tolerable 
degree of comfort. She therefore began to consider how it 
might be rendered more airy and commodious ; and after 
dinner, observing that the farmer's mind still brooded on his 
son's behaviour, she gladly introduced the subject of her pro- 
jected alterations, hoping thus to divert his thoughts into another 
channel. The first thing she proposed was to have hinges for 
the frame of the window, that it might open and shut at plea- 
sure. To this the farmer said he should have no objection, only 
that " he kenned it wad soon be broken to pieces blawing wi' 
the wund." 

*• Oh, but you mistake me,'^ said Mrs Mason. " I intend that 
it should be fastened, when open, with an iron hook, as they con- 
stantly^ fasten the cottage windows in England." 

" And wha do ye think wad put in the cleek ?" returned he. 
^' Is there ane, think ye, about this house that wad be at sic a 
fash?" 

" Why, what trouble is there in it ?" said Mrs Mason. '• It is 
only teaching j'our children to pay a little attention to such 
things, and they will soon come to find no trouble in them. 
They cannot too soon learn to be neat and regular in their ways." 

" Ilka place has just its ain gait," said the g-oodwife, " and ye 
needna think that we'll ever leam yours. And indeed, to be 
plain wi' you, cuisin, I think you have owre mony fykes. There, 
didna ye keep Grizzy for mair than twa hours yesterday morning 
soopin' and dustin' your room in every corner, and cleaning out 
the twa bits o' buird, that are for naething- but to set your feet 
on after a'?" 

" But did you know how dirty they were 1 " said Mrs Mason. 

" Hoot ! the chickens just got their meat on them for twa or 
three weeks, puir wee beasties ! The buirds were a wee thought 
darted wi' parritch, but it was weel dried on, and ye wadna been 
a bit the waur." 

'•' But are the boards the worse for being scoured ? " asked Mrs 
Mason ; " or would they have been the worse if they had been 
scoured when you took them from the chickens, or while they 
Avere feeding on them ? " 

" Oh, to be sure it wad hae been an easy matter to hae scour't 
them then, if we had thought of being at the fash," returned 
Mrs Macelarty. 

21 



MRS MACCLARTY. 

" In my opinion," rejoined Mrs Mason, " this fear of heing 
fashed is the great bar to all improvement. I have seen this 
morning that you are not afraid of work, for you have exerted 
yourself with a degree of activity that no one could excel ; yet 
you dread the small additional trouble that would make your 
house cheerful, clean, and comfortable. You dread the trouble of 
attention more than the labour of your hands ; and thus, if I 
mistake not, you often bring upon yourself trouble which timely 
attention would have spared. Would it not be well to have your 
children taught such habits of attention and regularity as would 
make you more easy, and them more useful, both to themselves 
and you ? " 

"As for my bairns," returned Mrs Macclarty, "if they 
pleasure me, they do weel eneugh." 

'-' There's a great spice o' good sense in what Mrs Mason has 
said though," said the farmer; "'but it's no easy for folk like us 
to be put out o' their ain gait." 

In truth, Mrs Macclarty was one of those seemingly good- 
natured people who are never to be put out of their own way, 
for she was obstinate to a degree ; and so perfectly self-satisfied, 
that she could not bear to think it possible that she might in 
anything do better than she did. Thus, though she would not 
argue in favour of sloth or dirt in general, she nevertheless con- 
tinued to be slothful and dirty, because she vindicated herself in 
every particular instance of either ; and though she did not wish 
that her children should be idle, obstreperous, disobedient, and 
self-willed, she effectually formed them to those habits, and then 
took credit to herself for being one of the best of mothers ! 

Mrs Mason had discernment enough to see how much pride 
there was in that pretended contentment which constantly re- 
pelled every idea of improvement. She saw that though Mrs 
Macclarty took no pains to teach her children what was truly- 
useful, she encouraged, with respect to them, an undefined senti- 
ment of ambition, which persuaded her that her children were 
born to rise to something great, and that they would in time 
overtop their neighbours. Mrs Mason saw the unhappy eftects 
which this would infallibly produce upon minds brought up in 
ignorance. She therefore resolved to do all in her power to 
obviate the consequences ; and from the opinion she had formed 
of the farmer's sense and principles, had no doubt of his co- 
operating with her in the work of reformation. 

While musing on this subject as she sat by her window in the 
twilight, she saw the two younger lads run hastily past, and 
soon heard from their mother such an exclamation of sorrow, as 
convinced her they had been the messengers of bad news. She 
therefore speedily proceeded butt, and there she found the poor 
woman wringing her hands, and lamenting herself bitterly. 
The farmer entered at the same moment, and on seeing 
him she redoubled her lamentations, still calling out, " Oh, 

22 



MRS MACCLARTY. 

Sandy ! Sandy ! oh that I should hae lived to see this day ! Oh^ 
Sandy! Sandy!" 

The intellig-ence was shortly made known that Sandy had 
enlisted as a soldier at the fair ; which produced a general feeling- 
of distress in the household, and a forgetfulness of ordinary 
duties. Evening was now far advanced. The cows, which the 
boys should have brought home to have milked, were still lowing 
in the West Croft ; and when Mrs Macclarty desired Robert to 
go for them, she obtained no other answer than that " Grizzy 
mio'ht gang as weel as him." Grizzy was busy in washing up 
the^ dishes wanted for supper, and which had remained unwashed 
from breakfast-time till now : they had been left to the care of 
Meg, who had neglected them, and by this neglect made the 
task more difficult to Grizzy, who was therefore in very bad 
humour, and began loudly to complain of Meg and Rob, who in 
their turns raised their voices in defence and mutual accusation. 
The din of the squabble became insufferable. Mrs Mason retired 
from it with horror, and shut herself up in her room, where she 
meditated with deep regret on the folly of those who, having* 
been placed by Almighty God in situations most favourable to 
the enjoyment of peace and the exercise of virtue, are insensible 
to the blessings, and, by permitting their passions to reign without 
control, destroy at once both peace and virtue. 

The distress felt by honest John Macclarty for the loss of his 
son induced him to attempt his recovery, and he accordingly set 
out for the town in which he had enlisted. This was an unfor- 
tunate journey. The farmer was knocked down and robbed, and 
was brought home in a state of great pain and danger. A fever 
ensued, which, not being checked in time by proper medical 
attendance, gained head, and could not afterwards be subdued. 
He died amid his mourning though ill-instructed family, but 
not before his wife and second son were taken ill. 

After the solemnities of the funeral, Mrs Mason was called ta 
witness the reading of the farmer's will. He had performed the 
duty of an honest man in making it while he was in perfect 
health ; wisely thinking that, if he deferred it till the hour of 
sickness, he might then neither have the ability nor inclination 
to give his mind to worldly cares. 

To his wife he bequeathed a free cottage in the village, and an 
annuity which he considered equal to her wants. To each of 
his younger children he left the sum of forty pounds, and to his 
eldest son the farm, burdened with the above provision for the 
rest of the family. In case the elder son should choose to go 
abroad, or enter into business, the farm was to go to the second, 
and the elder to have only a younger child's portion. By a 
clause in the will, the widow was to retain possession of the farm 
till the Candlemas after her husband's death ; so much more 
consideration had this humble cottager for the feelings of a wife^ 
than is often shown in the settlements of the rich and great ! 

23 



^ MRS MACCLARTY. 

The minister, who read the will, addressed himself, in finishing: 
it, to the friends and neig'hbours who were present, and proposed 
that they should alternately lend their assistance in managing 
the business of the harvest for the widow and her family. The 
proposal was readily agreed to by the men ; while Mrs Mason, 
-on her part, cheerfully undertook the superintendence of the 
household work and dairy, until her cousin should be so far 
recovered as to be able to resume her task. 

As soon as all the strangers were dismissed, Mrs Mason in- 
formed her cousin of the arrangements that had been made, with 
which she appeared perfectly satisfied. Depressed by grief and 
sickness, she still considered her recovery as hopeless, and sub- 
mitted to her fate with that species of quiescence which is often 
a substitute for the true spirit of resignation. 

Every moment of Mrs Mason's time was now fully occupied ; 
and the business of the family had never been so well conducted 
•as since its mistress had been incapacitated from attending to 
it. By the effects of forethought, order, and regularity, the 
labour was so much diminished to the servant, that she willingly 
resigned herself to Mrs Mason's directions, and entered into all 
her plans. The girls, though at first refractory, and often 
inclined to rebel, were gradually brought to order ; and finding 
that they had no one to make excuses for their disobedience, 
quietly performed their allotted tasks. They began to taste 
the pleasure of praise, and, encouraged by approbation, en- 
deavoured to deserve it ; so that, though their tempers had 
been too far spoiled to be brought at once into subjection, Mrs 
Mason hoped that, by steadiness, she should succeed in reform- 
ing them. 

Mrs Macclarty, who was not so changed by sickness, or so 
absorbed in grief, as to be indifferent to the world and its con- 
cerns, fretted at the length" of her confinement, which was 
rendered doubly grievous to her from the hints she occasionally 
a'eceived of the new methods of management introduced by Mrs 
Mason, which she could on no account believe equal to her own. 
Her friend and benefactress became the object of her jealousy 
and aversion. The neighbours, with whom she had cultivated 
the greatest intimacy, encouraged this dislike ; and on all their 
visits of condolence, expressed in feeling terms their sense of 
the sad change that had taken place in the appearance of the 
house, which, they said, was " now sae unco, they wad scarcely 
ken it for the same place." 

" Ay ! " exclaimed the wife of auld John Smith, who happened 
to visit the widow the first evening she was able to sit up to tea 
— " ay, alake ! it's weel seen that whar there's new lairds there's 
new laws. But how can your woman and your bairns put up 
wi' a' this fashery ? " 

" I kenna, truly," replied the widow ; " but Mrs Mason has 
just sic a way wi' them, she gars them do onything she likes. 

24 



MRS MACCLARTY. 

Ye may think it's an eery thing to me to see my poor bairns 
submitting that way to pleasure a stranger in a' her nonsense."" 

" An eery thing indeed ! " said Mrs Smith : " gif ye had but 
seen how she gard your dochter Meg clean out the kirn ! outside 
and inside ! ye wad hae been wae for the poor lassie. ' I trow/ 
said I, ' Meg, it wad hae been lang before your mither had set 
you to sic a turn.' ' A}',' says she, ' we hae new gaits now ;' and 
she lookit up and leugh." 

" New gaits, I trow ! " cried Sandy Johnston's mother, who 
had just taken her place at the tea-table ; " I ne'er kenned gude 
come o' new gaits a' my days. There was Tibby Bell, at the 
head o' the Glen, she fell to cleaning her kirn ae day, and the 
very first kirning' after her butter was burstet, and gude for 
naething. I'm sure it gangs to my heart to see your wark sae 
managed. It was but the day before yesterday that I cam upon 
Madam as she w^as haddin' the strainer, as she called it, to 
Grizzy, desiring" her a' the time she poured the milk to beware 
of letting in ane o' the cow's hairs that were on her goon. 
' Hoot !' says I, ' cow's hairs are canny ; they'll never choke ye.' 

• The fewer of them that are in the butter the better,' says she. 

• Twa or three hairs are better than the blink o' an ill ee,' says I. 
' The best charm against witchcraft is cleanliness,' says she. ' I 
doubt it muckle/ says I ; ' auld w^ays are aye the best ! ' " 

" Weel done ! " cried Mrs Smith ; " I trow ye gae her a screed 
o' your mind ! But here comes Grizzy frae the market ; let us 
hear what she says to it." 

Grizzel advanced to her mistress, and with alacrity poured 
into her lap the money she had got for her cheese and butter ; 
j)roudly at the same time observing* that it was more by some 
shillings than they had ever got for the produce of one week 
before that lucky day. 

" What say you ?" cried the wife of auld John Smith ; " are 
the markets sae muckle risen ? That's gude news indeed." 

" I didna say that the markets were risen," returned the 
maid ; " but we never got sae muckle for our butter nor our 
cheese, by a penny i' the pund weight, as I got the day. A' the 
best folks in the town were striving for it. I could hae sold 
twice as muckle at the same price." 

" Ye had need to be weel paid for it," said Sandy Johnston's 
mother, " for I fear ye had but sma' quantity to sell." 

" We never had sae muckle in ae week before," said Grizzy ; 
" for you see," continued she, '" the milk used aye to sour before 
it had stood half its time ; but noo the milk dishes are a' sae 
clean, that it keeps sweet to the last," 

" And dinna ye think muckle o' the fash ?" said Mrs Smith. 

" I thought muckle o't at first," returned Grizzy ; " but when 
I got into the way o't, I fand it nae trouble at a'." 

" But how do ye find time to get through sae muckle wark ?" 
said the widow Johnston. 

35 



MRS MACCLARTT. 

" I never," answered Grizzy, " got through my wark sae easy 
in my life ; for ye see Mrs Mason has just a set time for ilka 
turn ; so that folk are never rinnin'" in ane anither's gait ; and 
everything" is set by clean, ye see, so that it's just ready for use." 

" She maun hae an unco airt," said Mrs Macclart}^, " to gar 
ye do sae muckle, and think sae little o't. I'm sure ye ken how 
you used to grumble at being put to do far less. But I didna 
bribe ye wi' half-croon pieces as she does." 

" It's no the half-croon she gae me that gars me speak," cried 
Grizzy ; " but I sail always say that she is a most discreet and 
civil person, ay, and ane that taks a pleasure in doing gude. I 
am sure, mistress, she has done mair gude to you than ye can 
e'er repay, gif ye were to live this hunder year." 

" I sail ne'er say that she hasna been very kind," returned 
Mrs Macclarty ; " but, thank the Lord, a' body has shown kind- 
ness as weel as her. It's no lessenin' o' her to say that we hae 
other freends forby." 

"Freends!" repeated Grizzy; "what hae a' your freends 
done for you in comparison wi' what she has done, and is e'now 
■doing for you? Aj, just e'now, while I am speaking. But I 
forget that she charged me no to tell." 

Grizzy, however, was led to explain that Sandy having de- 
serted, was doomed to be shot, and that Mrs Mason, who was 
acquainted with his commanding officer, had gone to procure, if 
possible, a remission of his sentence. 

The suspense in which poor Mrs Macclarty was now involved 
with respect to her son's destiny appeared more insupportable 
than the most dreadful certainty. The stream of consolation 
that was poured upon her by her loquacious friends only seemed 
to add to her distress. She made no answer to their observa- 
tions, but, with her eyes eagerly bent towards the door, she 
fearfully listened to the sound of every passing footstep. At 
length the approach of horses was distinctly heard. Her maid 
hastily ran to the door for intelligence; and the old women, 
whose curiosity was no less eager, as hastily followed. The poor 
mother's heart grew faint. Her head drooped upon her hands, 
and a sort of stupor came over her senses. She sat motionless 
and silent ; nor did the entrance of the minister and Mrs Mason 
seem to be observed. Mrs Mason, who at a glance perceived 
that the sickness was the sickness of the mind, kindly took her 
hand, and bade her be of good cheer, for that, if she would 
recover, all her family would do well. 

"Is he to live?" said Mrs Macclarty in a low and hollow 
voice, fixing her eyes on Mrs Mason's, as if expecting* to read in 
them the doom of her son. 

" Give thanks to God," returned the minister, who had accom- 
panied Mrs Mason ; " your son lives ; God and his judges have 
dealt mercifully with him and you." 

On hearing these blessed words, the poor agitated mother 

26 



MRS MACCLARTY. 

gi'asped Mrs Mason's hands, and bm*st into a flood of tears. 
The spectators were little less affected: a considerable time 
elapsed before the silence that ensued was broken. At length, in 
faltering accents, the widow asked whether she mig-ht hope to 
see her son again? It was explained to her that this was 
impossible, an(t that the farm must be conducted b j Eobert, her 
-second son. 

This arrangement was no improvement, as it soon appeared, on 
a former state of affairs. The young farmer, unrestrained by his 
mother, behaved so rudely to Mrs Mason, that she resolved to 
seek a lodging elsewhere. Disappointed in finding a home in 
the house of her kinswoman, she now applied to William 
Morison and his wife, who lived in the village, to be taken as a 
lodger. They were poor, and therefore the small sum she 
could afford to pay might to them be particularly useful. They 
were humble, and therefore would not refuse to be instructed in 
matters which they had never before had any opportunity to 
learn. She might, then, do good to them and to their children ; 
and where she could do most good, there did Mrs Mason think 
it would be most for her happiness to go. 

No sooner did she g*ive a hint of her intention to Morison and 
his wife, than she perceived, from their brightened looks, that 
she had judged truly in imagining that her offer would be 
received with joy. These poor people had been sorely "^dsited by 
affliction ; but their good principles and good sense had taught 
them to make a proper use of the visitation, in checking the 
spirit of pride and presumption. Their resignation to the will of 
God was cheerful and unfeigned, and therefore led to redoubled 
efforts of industry ; but their exertions had not as yet effectually 
relieved them from the extreme poverty to which they had been 
reduced. After gratefully acknowledging theii* sense of Mrs 
Mason's kindness in giving their house a preference, and 
declaring how much they deemed themselves honoured by 
having her beneath their roof, they looked at each other and 
paused, as if struck by the sudden recollection of some invincible 
obstacle. Mrs Mason perceived their embarrassment, and asked 
the cause. 

There was a deficiency of furniture ; but Mrs Mason obviated 
every difficulty by saying that she meant to furnish her own 
apartment : and after a little further conversation, in which 
everything was arranged to mutual satisfaction, she set out on 
her return to the farm, animated by the delightful hope of 
having it in her power to dispense a degree of happiness to her 
fellow-creatures. 

After a visit of a few months to her friends at Gowan-brae, 
Mrs Mason returned to Glenburnie. When she arrived at 
Morison's cottage, she was received with a cordial welcome, to 
the comforts of " a blazing ingle and a clean hearth-stane." On 
examining her own apartment, she was delighted to find that 

27 



MRS MACCLARTY. 

everything" was arrang-ed to her wish, and far beyond her 
expectations ; nor could she persuade herself that her room had 
not undergone some very material and expensive alteration. 
This striking improvement was, however, merely the result of a 
little labour and attention ; but so great was the eifect thus 
produced, that though the furniture was not nearly so costly as 
the furniture of her room at Mrs Macclarty's, it appeared in all 
respects sujoerior. 

Mrs Morison was highly gratified by the approbation bestowed 
upon her labours ; and, pointing to her two little girls, told Mrs 
Mason how much they had done to forward the work, and that 
they were proud to find her pleased with it. Mrs Mason thanked 
them, and presented each with a ribbon, as an encouragement for 
good behaviour, assuring them at the same time that they 
would through life find happiness the reward of usefulness* 
" Alas ! " said Mrs Morison, " they must be obliged to work : puir 
things, they have naething else to depend upon." 

" And on what can they depend so well as on their own 
exertions?" replied Mrs Mason: "let them learn to excel in 
what they do, and look to the blessing of God upon their labours, 
and they may then pitj'^ the idle and the useless." 

" If you could but get my poor gudeman to think in that 
way," said Peggy, " your coming to us would indeed be a bless- 
ing to our family." 

''^ Fear not," said Mrs Mason ; " as his health amends, his 
spirits will return, and in the good providence of God he will 
find some useful opening for his industry. Who ever saw the 
righteous man forsaken, or the righteous man's children either, 
so^long as they walked in their father's steps 1 But now I must 
give some directions to my two little handmaids, whose attend- 
ance I shall take week about. I see they are willing-, and they 
will soon be able to do all that I require." 

"I'll answer for their being willing," cried their mother, 
looking fondly at the girls ; " but ye winna tak it ill if they 
shouldna just fa' at ance into your ways." 

" If they are willing," said'Mrs Mason, "they will soon learn 
to do everything in the best way possible. All I want of them 
is to save themselves trouble, by getting into the habit of mind- 
ing what they have to do. Any one who is willing may soon 
become a useful servant by attending to three simple rules." 
" To three rules 1 " cried Peggy, interrupting her ; " that's odd, 
indeed. But my gudeman maun hear this. Come, "William, and 
hear Mrs Mason tell our lassies a' the duties of a servant." 

" I fear the kail will be cauld before she gets through them 
all," said William, smiling ; " but I am ready to listen to her 
though it should." 

" Your patience won't be long tried," said Mrs Mason ; " for I 
have already told your girls, that in order to make good servants, 
they have only to attend to three simple rules." 

28 



MRS MACCLARTY. 

" Well, what are they ? " said the husband and wife, speaking- 
both at once. 

" They are," returned Mrs Mason, " to do everything in 

ITS PROPER time; TO KEEP EVERYTHING TO ITS PROPER USE ; 
AND TO PUT EVERYTHING IN ITS PROPER PLACE." 

" Well said ! '* cried William ; " and as I live, these same rules 
would mak a weel-ordered house. My lassies shall get them 
hy heart, and repeat them ilka morning" after they say their 
prayers." 

William kept his word; and Mrs Mason, finding" that she 
would be supported by the parents, did not despair of being- 
truly useful to the children, by conveying" to them the fruits of 
her experience. Mrs Morison was a neat orderly person, and 
liked to see her house and children what she called loeel redd up ; 
but her notions of what was necessary to comfort fell far short 
of Mrs Mason's ; neither had she been accustomed to that 
thoroug'h-g'oing" cleanliness which is rather the fruit of habitual 
attention than of periodical labour, and which, like the pure 
relig-ion that permits not the accumulation of unrepented sins 
upon the conscience, makes holiday of every day in the week. 
Mrs Morison was a strang'er to the pride which scorns instruc- 
tion. She did not refuse to adopt methods that were better 
than her own, merely because they were new ; nor, thoug-h she 
loved her children as fondly and as dearly as any mother in the 
world, did she ever defend their faults. But as her children 
were early inspired with a desire to please, they did not often 
stand in need of correction, and stood more in awe of their 
father's frown than those who have been nurtured in self-will 
stand in awe of the most severe beating*. 

Mrs Mason had not been many weeks a resident in the family, 
till the peculiar neatness of William's cottage attracted the notice 
of the neig-hbours. The proud sneered at what they called the 
pride of the Morisons ; the idle wondered how folk could find 
time for sic useless wark ; and the lazy, while they acknow- 
ledg"ed that they would like to live in the same comfort, drew 
in their chairs to the fire, and said they couldna he fashed. 

By the interest of Mrs Mason, William Morison was appointed 
schoolmaster in the village, a situation for which he was well 
fitted, and Mrs Mason took upon herself the duty of school- 
mistress to the girls. The benefit of the improved instruction 
now given to the children was soon jDerceptible, and praised by 
everybody but poor Mrs Macclarty. When she observed the 
thriving appearance of the Morisons, and how fast they were 
rising into notice and respect, her heart was torn between euNj 
and regret. Far was she, however, from imputing to herself 
any blame ; she, on the contrary, believed all the blame to rest 
with Mrs Mason, who was so unnatural as to leave her own 
relations, " and to tak up wi' strangers, who were neither kith 
nor kin to her;" nor did she omit any opportunity of railing 

29 



:mrs macclartt. 

at the pride of the schoolmaster's wife and dang-hters, who, she 
said, " were now sae saucy, as to pretend that they couldna sit 
down in comfort in a hoose that wasna clean soopit." She for 
a time fomid many among* the neighbours who readily acquiesced 
in her opinions, and joined in her expression of contempt ; but 
by degrees the strength of her party visibly declined. Those 
who had their children at school were so sensible of the rapid 
improvement that had been made in their tempers and manners, 
as well as in their learning, that they could not help feeling 
some gratitude to their instructors; and Mrs Mason, having 
instructed the girls in needlework, without any additional charge^ 
added considerably to their sense of obligation. Even the old 
women, who, during the first summer, had most bitterly ex- 
claimed against the pride of innovation, were by mid-winter 
inclined to alter their tone. How far the flannel waistcoats and 
petticoats distributed among them contributed to this change 
of sentiment, cannot be positively ascertained ; but certain it is, 
that as the people were coming from church the first fine day 
of the following spring, all stopped a few moments before the 
school-house, to inhale the fragrance of the sweetbrier, and to 
admire the beauty of the crocuses, primroses, and violets which 
embroidered the borders of the grass-plot. Mrs Macclarty, Avho, 
in great disdain, asked auld John Smith's wife " what a'" the 
folks were glowering at," received for answer that they were 
" looking at the bonniest sight in the town," pointing at the same 
time to the spot. 

• "Eh!" returned Mrs Macclarty, " I wonder what the warld 
will come to at last, since naething can serve the pride o' William 
Morison but to hae a flower garden whar gude Mr Brown's 
midden-stead stood sappy for mony a day ! He's a better man 
than will ever stand on William M orison's shanks." 

" The flowers are a hantel bonnier than the midden though, 
and smell a hantel sweeter too, I trow," returned Mrs Smith. 

This striking indication of a change of sentiment in the most 
sturdy stickler for the fjude auld gaits, foreboded the improve- 
ments that were speedily to take place in the village of Glen- 
burnie. These had their origin in the spirit of emulation 
excited among the elder schoolboys for the external appearance 
of their respective homes. The girls exerted themselves with 
no less activity to effect a reformation within doors ; and so 
successful were they in their respective operations, that by the 
time the Earl of Longlands came to take possession of Hill 
Castle, when he, accompanied by his two sisters, came, to visit 
Mrs Mason at Glenburnie, the village presented such a picture 
of neatness and comfort, as excelled all that in the course of 
their travels they had seen. The carts which used formerly to 
be stuck up on end before every door, were now placed in 
wattled sheds attached to the gable-end of the dwelling, and 
which were rendered ornamental from their coverings of honey- 

30 



MES MACCLARTY. 

suckle or ivy. The bright and clear glass of the windows was^ 
seen to advantage peeping through the foliage of the rose trees 
and other flowering- shrubs that were trimly nailed against the 
walls. The gardens on the other side were kept with equal care. 
There the pot-herb flourished. There the goodly rows of bee- 
hives evinced the effects of the additional nourishment afibrded 
their inhabitants, and showed that the flowers were of other 
use besides regaling the sight or smell. 

Mrs Mason, at the request of her visitors, conducted them 
into several of the cottages, where, merely from the attention 
paid to neatness, all had the air of cheerfulness and contentment. 
She was no less pleased than were the cottagers at the expres- 
sions of approbation which were liberally bestowed by her 
admiring friends, who particularly noticed the dress of the 
j'^oung women, which, equally removed from the slovenliness 
in which so many indulge on working days, as from the absurd 
and preposterous attempt at fashion which is on Sundays so 
generally assumed, was remarkable for neatness and simplicity. 

Mrs Mason continued for some years to give her assistance- 
to Morison in conducting the school, which was now increased 
by scholars from all parts of the country ; and was amply repaid 
for her kindness by the undeviating gratitude of the worthy 
couple and their children, from whom she experienced a constant- 
increase of friendship and afi'ection. 

The happy effects of their joint efforts in improving the hearts 
and dispositions of the youth of both sexes, and in confirming 
them in habits of industry and virtue, were so fully displayed, 
as to afford the greatest satisfaction to their instructors. To 
have been educated at the school of Glenburnie was considered 
as an ample recommendation to a servant, and implied a secu- 
rity for truth, diligence, and honesty. And fortunate was the 
lad pronounced whose bride could boast of the tokens of Mrs 
Mason's favour and approbation ; for never did these fail to be 
followed by a conduct that insured happiness and prosperity. 

The events that took place amono- the Macclarty family may 
now be briefly noticed. The first ot these was Rob Macclarty's 
taking to wife the daughter of a smuggler, a man of notoriously 
bad character, who, it was said, tricked him into a marriage. 
Mrs Macclarty 's opposition was violent, but abortive, and ended 
in an irreconcilable quarrel between her and her son. On being 
turned out of his house, she went to reside in a country town in 
the neighbourhood with her daughters, who were employed by 
a manufacturer in flowering muslin. Their gains were con- 
siderable ; but as all they earned was laid out in finery, it only 
added to their vanity and pride. Meg's bad conduct finally 
obliged her to leave the place, and Jean, as I learn fi*om an 
account sent to me, married a cousin, who kept an inn of the 
true Macclarty order on the road. 

On entering this place of entertainment, everything appears 

31 



> MRS MACCLARTY. 

dirty and comfortless. A passage sprinkled with sand leads 
you into apartments where you observe the tables to be covered 
with marks of liquor; and the chairs you will probably find 
it advisable to dust before sitting" down : this will be done by 
the sturdy servant gifl who, bare-legged, and with untied 
nightcap and scanty bedgown, will, soon after your arrival, 
hurry into the room with a shovelful of coals as a kindling 
for yonr fire. The attendance is as bad as it possibly can be. 
The waiters are of both sexes, and all are equally ingenious in 
delay. It is a rule of the house that your bell shall never 
be answered twice by the same person. If you dine at Mr 
Macclarty's, I shall not anticipate the pleasure of your meal, 
farther than to assure you, that you may depend on having 
here the largest and fattest mutton, and that though it should 
not be absolutely roasted to a cinder, the vegetables will not 
be more than half-boiled. In order to obtain a complete notion 
of this curiously-managed inn, you must not only dine, but' 
sleep and breakfast there. The beds, from their dampness, are 
admirably calculated to give rheumatisms ; and as for breakfast, 
you must not expect it to be on the table in less than an hour 
ii'om ihe time of your ordering it, even although every one of 
the waiters should promise it in five minutes. At length one 
bustles in with the tea equipage, and toast swimming in butter. 
After a lapse of time, another appears with the tea-kettle, which 
he leaves on the hearth till he goes in search of the tea 5 and 
so on. Everything is served in detachments, and in a manner 
calculated to try the temper of travellers. Damp beds, bad 
cookery, wretched attendance, and slovenliness in everything 
are rapidly causing a general desertion of the establishment; 
and impending- ruin threatens this last branch of the old and 
respectable stock of the Macclartj'-s. A rival house has been 
set up by a late scholar of Mrs Mason, and as it is conducted 
with care for the comfort of travellers, and with the most scru- 
pulous regard for cleanliness, it is attracting all the trade to 
itself — furnishing another example of the advantages of acti- 
vity and prudence over that slothfulness which leaves every- 
thing to be done to-morrow, and excuses itself by that per- 
verse and self-indulgent phrase of Mrs Macclarty — / ca?ma be 
fashed. 




THE LITTLE CAPTIVE KING. 



L 



LOtJIS AND THE COMPASS. 



'^W^^'^ NE morning" in the month of August 1789, a man 
^'IJ^^MJL^ and a child were walking throug'h the extensive and 

:i1^^^^ beautiful park of Rambouillet — a royal residence, 

^/^S^^ thirty -six miles south-west of Paris. The man, 
7l^ though of a somewhat bulky frame, was yet in the prime 

' .Jj) of life, and had a mild and distinguished countenance. His 
'J~^ simple style of dress did not indicate the precise rank 

-^'T^ which he held in society, yet his aquiline nose, his majesty 
of air, as well as the broad blue ribbon visible between his white 
waistcoat and lace frill, marked him as one of the royal family. 
As for the child, he was remarkable for almost angelic beauty 
and his clustering curls of fair hair which hung- over his open 
neck and shoulders. About four years and five months old, 
but, like all precocious children, taller than usual at that ag-e, 
he bore in his features an air of brio-ht intellig-ence, shaded, 
however, as some would think, with a stamp of melancholy 
unsuitable to his years. Gay and lively in the extreme, his 
animal spirits were at one moment in wild exuberance ; in the 
next his mood changed to deep depression. His bright blue 
eyes had the irresistible charm of having their brilliance softened 
by a pensiveness of expression, calculated to interest all who 
looked on his fau' countenance. 

The man was Louis XYI., King of France, the child was his 
son, Louis-Charles, the dauphin. 

No. 47. 1 



THE LITTLE CAPTIVE KING. 

" Louis," said the king", " to-morrow is the queen's birthday^ 
and you must think of something new for her bouquet, and com- 
pose some little compliment." 

" Papa," replied the young* prince quickly, " I have a beautiful 
everlasting- in my garden, and it will just do for my bouquet 
and my compliment too. When presenting it to mamma, I can 
say, ' Mamma, I wish that you may be like this flower.'" 

"Very good, indeed, my child," said the king, pressing his 
little hand which he held in his. " How much I wish that your 
conduct was always as satisfactory as your little sallies are pleas- 
ing* and full of heart ! I grieve to have heard that while study- 
ing your lesson with your tutor yesterday, you began to hiss. 
Was this as it ought to be, Louis ?" 

" What would you have me do, papa ?" replied Louis with an 
arch smile ; " I said my lesson so badly, that I hissed myself." 

" What was the abbe explaining to you?" said the king. 

" It was the use of the compass, and I own to you, papa, that I 
am just now greatly puzzled about it. I scarcely heard a word 
he said. All the time he was speaking', I was thinking how the 
sun would be burning up my garden and my beautiful flowers, 
and I was long'ing to get out to water them ; so Monsieur the 
abbe will be very angry ^vith me to-morrow, for I do not re- 
member a single syllable. If you have time, papa, could you not 
tell me all about it while we are walking?" 

" With pleasure, Louis," answered the king, " particularly as 
I happen to have a small compass in my pocket. Before, how- 
ever, attempting to explain this curious instrument, I must tell 
you something of the magnet, from which its power and use- 
fulness are derived. The only natural magnet with which we 
are acquainted is the loadstone — a mineral of a dark iron gray 
colour approaching' to black, found in great abundance in the 
iron mines of Sweden, in some parts of the East, in America, and 
sometimes, though rarely, among the iron ores of England. Now, 
the loadstone has a property of attracting iron, which it draws 
into contact with its own mass and holds firmly attached by its 
own power of attraction. A piece of loadstone drawn several 
times along a needle or a small piece of iron, converts it into an 
artificial magnet. If this magnetised needle be then carefully 
balanced, so as to move easily on its centre, one of its ends will 
always turn to the north. Now, Louis, look at this small case. 
You see in it the magnet, made like the hand of a clock, with 
that end which points to the north shaped like the head of an 
arrow. You see that it is carefully balanced on a steel point, 
and beneath it is a card marked like a dial-plate with north, 
south, east, west, such being the cardinal points ; also the inter- 
mediate points, as north-west, south-east, &c. By merely look- 
ing at the position of the needle when it settles to a point,, the 
mariner can see the direction in which his vessel is sailin^^. and 
regulate his steering accordingly. The case, you see, is covered 

2 



THE LITTLE CAPTIVE KING. 

with g-lass^ to protect the face from injury. This is a small 
compass, but there are large ones which are not so well suited 
for carrying- about. Whether large or small, the compass is 
one of the most useful instruments in the world. Without it, 
mariners dare not venture out of sight of land, nor would the 
discovery of America have been made by the great Columbus. 
You will remember that the magnetic needle always points to 
the north." 

" Papa, tell me, is the compass as useful on land as at sea?" 

" Assuredly, my child. For example, suppose we were to lose 
our way in the adjoining forest : I know that the Chateau de 
Rambouillet lies to the north of the forest, and to find out the 
north I look at my compass, and take the direction to which the 
needle points — so." And the king showed his son how the needle 
would act. 

The boy, who had been most attentively listening to his father, 
suddenly cried, '• Do, papa, lend me your compass, and let me 
find my way by myself to the chateau." 

" And if you lose your way?" said the king, a little startled at 
the proposal. 

" But the compass will guide me, papa." 

"You are not afraid, then, of being- alone in the forest?" 

"Was a king of France ever afraid?" replied Louis, proudly 
raising his pretty fair head. 

" Well, be it so," said the king ; " here is the compass, and 
here, too, is mj purse, for you may want money on your way. 
Now let us part ; you, Mr Adventurer, may take to the right, I 
will keep to the left, and I appoint you to meet me at the 
chateau." 

"Agreed," said Louis, kissing his father's hand as he took 
from it the compass, and then merrily plunged into the depths of 
the forest. 

IL 

LOUIS AND THE PEASANT. 

For about an hour the dauphin pursued his way, directing his 
course by the compass till he arrived at the borders of the forest, 
without finding himself nearer home. A large meadow lay 
before him, in which some peasants were mowing, and he 
advanced towards them, not to inquire his way — the idea of 
seeking any other guide but his compass did not enter his head — 
no, he only wanted to know the hour. As he approached, a 
little dog began barking in rather a hostile way. His master 
called him back ; but the dog did not immediately obey, and the 
peasant left his work, and with the handle of his scythe gave 
the animal several blows. 

On hearing the cries of the dog, Louis ran to the peasant. 
" Wil! you sell that pretty dog, friend?" said he to him. 

3 



THE LITTLE CAPTIVE KING. 

" Not SO fast, my little gentleman/' answered the peasant, who 
did not recognise the prince ; " I would not sell my dog, do you 
see, for all the gold in the king's purse. My poor MuiF — my 
only companion in my poverty — my only friend ! " 

" Then why do you beat him ?" 

" He that loves well chastises well, my little gentleman." 

" Here, friend," said the child, taking a piece of gold from his 
purse ; " I will give you this, if you promise me not to love 
your dog quite so well." 

Astonished at this munificence in so young a child, the pea- 
sant said, " One would think you were the son of a king, to give 
away so much money at a time." 

" I am the son of your king," answered Louis, artlessly. 

" Pardon, my prince ; I aslc pardon," said the peasant in great 
confusion. " Pardon me for having refused you the dog : it is 
yours, my prince, and all that I have besides. Take Muff, my 
good young prince — take Muif." 

" I am much obliged to you, my good sir," answered the 
child ; " but you tell me he is your only friend. Now I have a 
great many friends, so I will not deprive you of yours. I only 
want you to tell me what o'clock it is." 

" It is three o'clock, your highness." 

" But how do you know ? — where did you see it ? " said the 
child with much surprise. " You did not look at your watch." 

" If we poor peasants could not tell the hour without a watch, 
I do not know what we should do. Sure we have the sun." 

" And how do you know by the sun?" 

" Well, indeed, I cannot tell you that very clearly, my 
young prince; it is, however, according to its height. When 
as high as it will go nearly over our heads, and Avhen it casts 
the least possible shadow anywhere, we know it is noon pre- 
cisely. According as it comes down lower, and our shadow 
lengthens, it is one o'clock, two o'clock, three o'clock, and so 
on. You see we just judge by the shadows, my good little 
prince." 

"Thank you, friend, for all you have taught me," said the 
child; and then, notwithstanding the earnest intreaties of the 
peasant to be allowed to shoAv him the way — steady to his re- 
solve to consult no guide but the compass — he fearlessly struck 
again into the forest, and at length, after several hours of wan- 
dering, now finding noAv missing the track, he arrived at Ram- 
bouillet heated and panting, yet insensible to the fatigue he had 
undergone from exultation at having, unassisted, reached the 
end of his journey. 

The moment the king saw him, he ran to him ^vith an eager- 
ness that betrayed what had been his anxiety. " I had almost 
begun to think you had lost your way, Louis." 

" Lost my way, indeed ! How could I have lost it?" said the 
child, with a half-indignant look. 
4 



THE LITTLE CAPTIVE KING. 

" Oil, I see your pride is up in arms ; but if it had not been 
for the compass " 

" Papa, if I had had no compass, my heart would have guided 
me to you." 

ni. 

FAMILY HISTORY. 

"We must say something" of the parentage and birth of our 
young hero, and shall commence with his father. Louis XVI. 
was grandson of Louis XV., by whom, while dauphin, or heir- 
apparent to the throne of France, he was kept in comparative 
seclusion and ignorance of the knowledge required for his high 
destination. In consequence of this imperfect acquaintance with 
the world and of state affairs, as well as from temperament, he 
was indecisive, timid, silent, and reserved ; but full of benevo- 
lence, and of exemplary morals. In 1770, he was united to 
Marie Antoinette, daughter of Francis I. of Austria and Maria 
Theresa; Louis at the time being no more than sixteen, and 
Marie Antoinette fifteen years of age. Educated with great 
care, this young princess was highly accomplished, and endowed 
with an uncommon share of gracefulness and beauty. In a letter 
written by her mother Maria Theresa to her future husband, she 
says, among other things, " Your bride, dear dauphin, is sepa- 
rated from me. As she has ever been my delight, so she will 
be your happiness. For this purpose have I educated her, for I 
have long been aware that she was to be the companion of your 
life. I have enjoined upon her, as among her highest duties^ 
the most tender attachment to your person, the greatest attention 
to everything that can please or make you happy. Above all, I 
have recommended to her humility towards God ; because I am 
convinced that it is impossible for us to contribute to the happi- 
ness of the subjects confided to us, without love to Him who 
breaks the sceptres, and crushes the thrones of kings according 
to His own will." The dejiarture of this young and fascinating' 
creature from Vienna filled all hearts with sorrow, so much was 
she beloved. Conducted with great state through Germany to the 
borders of France, near Strasburg', she was there assigned to the 
care of the French nobles and ladies of honour deputed to receive 
her ; but not till an important ceremonial, according to the usage 
of France, had been performed. 

In the midst of a pretty green meadow was erected a superb 
pavilion. It consisted of a vast saloon, connected with two 
apartments, one of which was assigned to the lords and ladies of 
the court of Vienna, and the other to those of the court of France, 
including body-guard and pages. The young princess being 
conducted into the apartment "for the Germans, she was there 
undressed, in order that she might retain nothing belonging to 
a foreign court; and with the slenderest covering she was ushered 

5 



THE LITTLE CAPTIVE KING. 

into the apartment in which her French suite was in attendance. 
It was a trying- moment for a delicate female. On the doors 
being" thrown open, the young" princess came forward, looking 
round for her lady of honour, the Countess de Noailles ; then 
rushing- into her arms, she implored her, with tears in her eyes, 
and with a heart-felt sincerity, to direct her, to advise her, and 
to be in every respect her guide and support. It was impossible 
to refrain from admiring' her aerial yet august and serene deport- 
ment : her smile was sufficient to win every heart. Dressed by 
her tirewoman, the Duchess of Cosse, she l3ecame a princess of 
France ; and on jDresenting herself to the numerous retinue, she 
was hailed with loud and protracted acclamations. 

The journey of Marie Antoinette through France was like a 
triumphal march ; and when she arrived at Versailles, the enter- 
tainments given on her account were remarkably splendid. On 
the occasion of her marriage, the city of Paris also gave a mag- 
nificent fete ; but greatly to her distress and that of her husband, 
the overcrowding of the streets caused a deplorable catastrophe — 
fifty-three persons were pressed or trodden to death, and about 
three hundred dangerously wounded. To increase the melan- 
choly recollections of the event, a fire broke out in the Place 
Louis XV. by which many persons perished, and hundreds lost 
their all. The dauphin and dauphiness were so overwhelmed 
with grief at this second disaster, that they sent their whole 
income for the year to the relief of the surviving sufferers. This 
and other traits of good dispositions seemed to endear Marie 
Antoinette to the French ; but unfortunately she was from the 
first surrounded by mean factions, whose delight lay in misre- 
presenting all her actions, and rendering her unpopular. 

The dauphin and dauphiness lived chiefly at Versailles, or in 
the small palace in the adjoining grounds, known by the name 
of the Trianon, where the princess had an opportunity of in- 
dulging in her love for flowers and gardening, and Louis could 
pursue unmolested the industrial occupations to which he was 
attached. Living- much apart from state affairs, four years thus 
pleasantly passed away, when the current of their lives was 
greatly altered by the demise of the reigning sovereign. Any 
one who had visited the palace of Versailles at the beginning of 
May 1774, would have found the inmates in a state of extreme 
consternation. Louis XV. lay ill of a dangerous malady, small- 
pox, and a number of the courtiers catching the infection, died. 
At length, on the evening of the 10th of the month, the king closed 
his mortal career. The dauphin was at this time with the dau- • 
phiness in one of the apartments distant from the scene of death. '. 
A noise was suddenly heard by them ; it increased like the rush-'^ 
ing of a torrent. It was the crowd of courtiers who were desei^t- 
ing the dead sovereign's antechamber, to come and bow to the 
new power of Louis XVI. This extraordinary tuniult informed 
Marie Antoinette and her husband that they were to reign; and 

6 



THE LITTLE CAPTIVE KING. 

hj a spontaneous movement, which, deeply affected those around 
them, they threw themselves on their knees, and both pouring 
forth a flood of tears, exclaimed, " Oh God ! guide us, protect us ; 
we are too young" to g-overn ! " 

Marie Antoinette was now queen of France ; but the accession 
brought no real happiness. For many years the court had been 
a scene of demoralisation, and full of jealousies and intrigues, 
which she found it impossible to quell. The queen was likewise 
harassed with perplexing ceremonies, for which, being bred in a 
simple patriarchal court, she had no taste. She Avas little else 
than a puppet in the hands of her attendants. If she wanted a 
glass of water, she was not allowed to take it herself; it must be 
given by a lady of honour. At table everything was presented 
on bended knees, as if she had been a divinity. In making her 
toilet, she durst not pour water on her own hands ; every move- 
ment was performed by waiting -women, all members of the 
nobihty. Sometimes one trifling operation would require six per- 
sons : one would take an article of dress from a wardrobe and 
hand it to another, who would in turn give it to another, and so 
on, the last putting- it on the person of the queen, who was all 
the time perhaps shivering with cold. Marie Antoinette spoke 
with satirical pleasantry of these useless ceremonies, and wished 
to abolish them ; but this only gained her enemies, and became 
the pretext for the first reproaches levelled against her. 

Louis XVI. and his queen were married eight years before they 
had any children. At length, on the 11th of December 1778, the 
queen was delivered of her first infant, a daughter, and great 
were the rejoicings on the occasion, althoug'h to a less extent 
than if the birth had been of a son. When the young* princess 
was presented to the queen, she pressed her to her truly maternal 
heart. " Poor little one,"' said she, " you are not v/ hat was 
wished for, but you are not on that account less dear to me. A 
son would have been rather the property of the state. You shall 
be mine ; you shall have my undivided care, shall share all my 
happiness, and console me in all my troubles." A g'reat number 
of attendants watched near the queen during the first nights 
of her confinement ; and this made her uneasy, for it was con- 
trary to the etiquette of the court that they should lie down 
in bed. With much kindly consideration, she ordered a number 
of large arm-chairs for her women, the backs of which were 
capable of being let down by springs, and which served per- 
fectly well instead of beds. It was thus that Marie Antoinette 
felt for all who were about her. Her daughter was named Marie 
Therese. 

'.. On the 22d of October 1781, the queen gave birth to a son, the 
dauphin, and on this occasion the hopes of all classes appeared to 
be; crowned with universal joy. Numerous were the congra- 
tulations' ; and Versailles for some time bore the air of a perpemal 
holid'ay. In the society of her son and daughter the queen now 

7 



THE LITTLE CAPTIVE KING. 

spent much of her time ; and as they grew up, she endeavoured 
to cultivate in them every amiable quality. During- the winter 
of 1783, when the poor suffered g-reatly from cold, she distri- 
Ijuted large sums, saved from her allowance, among" the most 
necessitous families in Versailles ; nor did she fail on this occasion 
to give her children a lesson in beneficence. Having met on the 
new-year's eve to get from Paris, as in other years, all the 
fashionable playthings, she caused them to be spread out in her 
closet. Then taking her son and daughter in her hand, she 
showed them all the dolls and toys which were ranged there, and 
told them, that she intended to give them some handsome new- 
year's gifts, but that the cold made the poor so wretched, that all 
her money was spent in blankets and clothes to protect them 
from the rigour of the season, and in supplying them with bread ; 
so that this year they would only have the pleasure of looking at 
the new playthings. When she returned with her children intof 
her sitting-room, she said there was still an unavoidable expense 
to be incurred, and that was paying the toyman for the use of 
his toys and the cost of his journey, and a sum was accordingly 
paid to him for his services. 

To the family of Marie Antoinette another addition was made 
on the 27th of March 1785, when Louis-Charles, the object of 
our present memoir, was born. Immediately on his birth, which 
took place at Versailles, the king, his father, conferred on him 
the title of Duke of Normandy, which had not been given to 
the princes of France since the time of Charles VII. He wa& 
baptised the same dsij, his sponsors being Monsieur, the king's- 
brother (afterwards Louis XVIII.), and Madame Elizabeth, as 
proxy for the queen of Naples. This was a happy event in the 
royal family of France, and served to assuage the vexations in 
which the king was becoming involved Avith his state affairs. 
It was another bright moment when the princess Sophie was 
born in 1788; but she died while still an infant, and shortly 
afterwards the dauphin fell in a few months from a florid state 
of health into so weak a condition, that he could not walk with- 
out support. How many maternal tears did his languishing 
frame, the certain forerunner of death, draw from the queen, 
already overwhelmed with apprehensions respecting the state of 
the kingdom ! Her grief was enhanced by petty intrigues and 
quarrels among the persons who surrounded her. The dauphin 
died in 1789 ; and Louis-Charles, or Louis, as his father usually 
called him, became dauphin in his stead. 

To a naturally amiable disposition, Louis-Charles united . an 
intellect premature in its development, with a countenance 
which bore the mingled expression of the mildness of his father 
and the lofty dignity of his mother. As he grew up in child- 
hood, he showed a most decided love for flowers; and the king, 
who wished to cultivate tastes so simple and so conducive in 
their practical exercise to his bodily health, had given him a 

8 



THE LITTLE CAPTIVE KING. 

little plot of ground in front of the apartments opening* on 
the terrace at Versailles. There was the dauphin, day after 
day, to be seen with his little spade working- away ; and thoug-h 
the perspiration stood in larg*e drops upon his forehead, he 
would suffer no one to help him. " No," said he ; " it is be- 
cause I make the flowers grow myself that mamma is so fond 
of them ; so I must work hard to have them ready for her." 
And every morning- the young- proprietor of this little domain 
came to pull his fairest roses, his most frag-rant violets, to 
form a bouquet to lay on his mother's bed; so that the first 
thing Marie Antoinette always saw on awaking' was her boy's 
early offering- ; while from behind the curtain he watched her 
smile of pleasure, then sprang- from his hiding-place to claim 
his reward — that reward a kiss — and that kiss was so sweet 
to him that no severity of weather could hinder him from g-oing- 
to his little g-arden to pull the flowers that won for him this 
prize. 

And here we would pause to say, if, in this elevated rank, it 
is found that when affection is to be evinced it is evinced in a 
way common to all classes — evinced in the daily little attentions 
miscalled trifling- — may not those in humble life who have per- 
haps felt inclined to murmur that all power to bestow large 
bounties, all opportunity to make splendid sacrifices in proof of 
love, has been denied to them, repress the vain wish that it had 
been otherwise, and rest satisfied in the recollection that however 
rare may be the occasions to save or serve, and vouchsafed to 
few, yet all may please. Let such, thoug-h they may not have 
even the flower in the bud to give, rejoice that a kindly look, the 
smallest office of patient love, the shrinking from giving pain, 
the bitter word repressed when rising to the lips, is no despicable 
offering, either in the eyes of an earthly friend or in the sight of 
that heavenly friend who forgets not the cup of cold water given 
for his sake, and who said of her of small power but loving 
heart, " She hath done what she could." 

The young prince was not always equally studious or docile, 
and one day that he was to be punished for some misdemeanour, 
the plan devised was to take from him his dear little dog Mufl^, 
which the grateful peasant of the forest had brought as an offer- 
ing to his young prince ; and next to his parents and his flowers 
all his care Avas for Muff. On this occasion the dog was shut up 
in a closet where the dauphin might hear but could not see him 
— a privation apparently as great to Muff as to his master, for 
he never ceased howling and scratching at the door. The prince, 
unable to bear it any longer, ran with tears streaming down his 
cheeks to the queen. " Mamma," cried he, " Muff is so un- 
happy, and you know, as it was not he that was naughty, he 
ought not to be punished. If you will let him out, I promise to 
go into the closet instead of him, and to stay there as long as 
you wish." His petition was granted ; Muff was set at liberty, 

9 9 



THE LITTLE CAPTIVE KING. 

and the little dauphin remained patiently in the dark closet tiH 
his mother released him. 

Like most children of his age, he did not always make proper 
application of the maxims which he heard. One day that, in 
the exuberance of animal spirits, he was about to throw himself 
into the midst of some rose-bushes, " Take care," said the queen, 
"those thorns might tear your eyes out, and will certainly 
scratch you severely." 

" But, dear mamma," answered he in a most mag-nanimous 
tone, " thorny paths, you know, iead to glory." 

" It is a noble maxim," replied the queen, " but I see you do 
not quite understand it. ^Yhat glory can there be in getting your 
eyes scratched out for the mere pleasure of jumping into a hedge? 
If, indeed, it were to extricate any one from danger, there would 
be glory in it, but as it is, there is only imprudence. My child, 
you must not talk of glory till you are able to read the history 
of true heroes who have disinterestedly sacrificed life and fortune 
for the good of others." 

On one occasion his governess, uneasy at seeing him running" 
at headlong speed, said to the queen, " He will surely fall." 

" He must learn to fall," replied Marie Antoinette. 

'' But he may hurt himself." 

" He must learn to endure pain," said the queen, who, with 
all her fondness, had no desire to make her boy effeminate. 



IV. 

REMOVAL TO PARIS. 

The love of rural pursuits evinced by the young* dauphin was 
destined to be rudely broken in upon. While with his parents 
at Versailles in 1789, the revolution in France broke out, and 
filled the royal family with alann. It was the misfortune of 
Louis XVI. to have fallen on evil times, and, with all his good 
qualities, to become the victim on whose head the popular resent- 
ment for long-endured injui'ies should be visited. It was another 
of his misfortunes to be surrounded by incompetent advisers, and 
to be deserted by the classes who might have been expected to 
rally round the throne. 

When tumults began to take place in Paris, it was considered 
necessary that the king should proceed thither to show himself 
to the people at the Hotel de Ville. He went on the 17th of 
July 1789. Everybody knows that this movement gave a 
trifling lull to the storm. When the sovereign received the 
tri-coloured cockade from the mayor of Paris in front of an 
assembled multitude, a shout of Vive le JRoi ! arose on all sides. 
The king breathed again freely at that moment ; he had not for 
a long time heard such acclamations. During his absence the 
queen shut herself up in her private rooms with her family, 

K) 



THE LITTLE CAPTIVE KINa. 

She sent for several persons belonging" to the court, but their 
doors were locked; terror had driven them away. A deadly- 
silence reig-ned throughout the palace ; fear was at its height ; 
the king' was hardly expected to return. He did however come 
back, and was received with inexpressible joy by the queen, his 
sister, and his children. He congratulated himself that no acci- 
dent had happened ; and it was then he repeated several times, 
" Happily no blood has been shed, and I swear that never shall 
a drop of French blood be shed by my order." 

It is not our intention to relate the history of the revolution 
which had already commenced, but only to note a few particulars 
in the life of our young hero and his unfortunate parents. On 
various pretexts it was resolved by the mob of Paris, a large 
portion of whom were women of the lowest habits, to march to 
Versailles and bring the royal family to Paris. This alarming 
movement took place on the 5th and 6th of October. The court, 
deserted by the host of nobles who might have been expected to 
rally round the throne, and with scarcely any friends left but 
their immediate attendants and attached guards, were on this 
momentous occasion exposed to many gross indignities, and with 
some difficulty were able to save their lives. Carriages being- 
prepared, they were compelled to go into them and proceed to 
Paris, attended by a rabble of many thousands. It was not 
the least of the many painful circumstances accompanying this 
removal, that the king was compelled to withdraw his son from 
the healthy breezes of the country to the comparative close- 
ness of a city atmosphere. The boy, also, was inconsolable. 
To be taken away from his little garden w^as a sore grief; his 
beautiful flowers, the flowers reared with his own hands, would, 
he said, wither and die ; and he was like to die at the thought. 
In order to console him, he was told he should have much nicer 
flowers at Paris, and as many as he could wish for. " They will 
not be my own flowers that I planted and watered," he answered; 
" I shall never love any flowers so well as these." 

Clinging to his mamma in terror of the horde of wild-look- 
ing men and women who were shouting in demoniac laughter, 
the dauphin entered one of the coaches ; the queen alternately 
trying to pacify his fears, and to look with calmness on the ter- 
rific throng. Already blood had been shed. The mob, in forcing 
the palace, had killed two of the guards who defended the queen's 
apartments from outrage ; and with the heads of these unfortu- 
nate and brave men stuck on the end of poles, a party preceded 
the royal carriages to Paris. These wretches, with a refinement 
of cruelty which, we imagine, could scarcely be matched out of 
France, stopped on the way at Sevres, and compelled a hair- 
dresser to dress the gory heads according to the fashion of the 
period. In the rear of this band slowly came the procession of 
soldiers, citizens, women — an indescribable crowd of the vilest 
beings on earth — some riding astride on cannons, some carrying 

II 



THE LITTLE CAPTIVE KING. 

pikes or muskets^ and numbers waving long* branches of poplar. 
It looked like a moving- forest, amidst which shone pike-heads 
and g'un-barrels. After the royal carriages came the king's 
faithful guards, some on foot and some on horseback, most of 
them uncovered and worn out with want of sleep, hunger, and 
fatigue. Finally came a number of carriages containing deputies 
of the Assembly, followed by the bulk of the Parisian army. 

In the course of the journey, which was protracted to a late 
hour, the king and queen were constantly reviled by the crowd 
of savage women who thronged about them. There was at the 
time a dearth of bread in Paris, arising* from natural causes ; 
but it was imputed to the king, and now that he was in the 
hands of the mob, they cried out that bread would no longer be 
either dear or scarce. "We shall no longer," they shouted at 
the windows of the rojal carriages, " we shall no longer want 
bread ; we have the baker, the baker's wife, and the baker's boy 
with us." In the midst of all the revilings, tumult, and singing, 
interrupted by frequent discharges of musketry, might be seen 
Marie Antoinette preserving the most courageous tranquillity of 
soul, and an air of noble and inexpressible dignity. 

The departure of the rojal family for Paris was so hurried 
that no time was aiforded to make preparations at the palace of 
the Tuileries, which, since the minority of Louis XV., had not 
been the residence of the kings of France. Some apartments, 
however, were cleared for their reception ; and from this time 
may be dated the captivity of Louis XVI. in the hands of his 
people. 

On the day after the arrival of the court in Paris, a noise was 
heard in the garden of the Tuileries, which, terrifying the 
dauphin, he threw himself into the arms of the queen, crying- 
out, "Oh mamma, is yesterday come again?" The child in 
his simplicity could not account for the revolutionary move- 
ments of which he, with others, was the victim ; and a few days 
after making the above aifecting exclamation, he went up to his 
father to speak to him on the subject. " Well, Louis, what is it 
you wish to say ? " asked the king. 

" I want to know, papa," he answered pensively, " why the 
people, who formerly loved you so well, are all at once angry 
with you ; what is it you have done to irritate them so much ?" 

His father, interested in the question, took him upon his knee, 
and spoke to him nearly as follows : — " I wished, my dear Louis, 
to make my jDeople still happier than they were. I wanted money 
to pay the expenses occasioned by wars. I asked my people for 
mone}^, as the former kings of France had done ; the magistrates 
composing the parliament opposed it, and said that my people 
had alone a right to consent to it. I thereupon assembled the 
principal inhabitants of every town, whether distinguished by 
birth, fortune, or talents, at Versailles ; and that is what is called 
the States- GeJicral. When all were assembled, they required 

12 



THE LITTLE CAPTIVE KIXG. 

concessions of me which I could not make, either with due re- 
spect for myself or with justice to you, who will be my successor. 
Wicked men inducing: the people to rise, have occasioned th6 
excesses of the last few days ; the people must not be blamed for 
them." 

The dauphin had now a more clear idea of the position of 
affiiirs, and to please his father and mother, he endeavoured to 
avoid giving" cause of oifence to those about him. When he had 
occasion to speak to the officers of the national guards, mayors 
of the communes, or revolutionary leaders who visited the Tuile- 
ries, he did so with much affability. If the queen happened to be 
present, he would come and whisper in her ear, " Is that right ?" 

The royal family were not permitted to consider the whole 
garden of the Tuileries as their own. The chief portion was 
claimed by the National Assembly. In that part appropriated 
to the king's household, the dauphin was given a small patch 
in which he might pursue his love for flowers ; but even this 
induli>"ence w^as clogged with the regulation that he should be 
attended by members of the national guard. At first the escort 
was small, and courteously did the young prince invite his 
g'uards to enter, and graciously did he distribute flowers amongst 
them ; sometimes saying to them, " I would give you a great 
many more, but mamma is so fond of them." But the guard 
being gradually increased, he could no longer do the honours 
of his little domain to all, and once he apologised to those who 
were pressing round the palisades — " I am sorry, gentlemen, 
that my garden is too small to permit of my having the pleasure 
of seeing you all in it." 

One day a poor woman made her way into the garden, and 
presented him a petition. " My prince," said she, " if you can 
obtain this favour for me, I shall be as happy as a queen." The 
child took the paper, and with a look of deep sadness exclaimed, 
"Happy as a queen! you say; I know one queen who does 
nothing but weep all day long." 



Y. 

GLOOMY FOREBODINGS — IMPRISONMENT. 

The years 1790 and 1791 were passed by the royal family in a 
state of constant apprehension. Clamoured against by all, and in 
constant danger of assassination, the king appears to have sunk 
into a state of gloomy despondency, from which neither the smiles 
of his wife nor the sallies of little Louis could raise him. For some 
months he scarcely spoke a word. The queen spent much of her 
time in tears. Recommended by a few attached partisans, as 
well as by his own fears, he made an attempt to leave the king- 
dom with his family, but, as every one knows, they were, stopped 
at Varennes before they reached the frontiers, and brought back 

13 



THE LITTLE CAPTIVE KING. 

to Paris. In their return they were under the charge of Bar- 
nave, one of the deputies appointed by the Assembly to attend 
the royal prisoners. At the time it was customary for the revo- 
lutionists to wear buttons on which was the device, "To live 
free, or die." Observing words to that effect on the button of 
M. Barnave, the dauphin said, " Mamma, what does that mean 
— to live free V "My child," replied the queen, "it is to go 
where you please." "Ah, mamma," replied the child quickly'-, 
" then we are not free !" 

This attempt at flight considerably aggravated the condition 
of the royal family, who were now more carefully watched than 
ever ; the king and queen living almost continually under the 
eyes of sentinels, and all their correspondence watched. These 
things preyed on the mind of Marie Antoinette, and began to 
give her the appearance of premature old age. 

" Mamma," said the dauphin one day shortly after the return 
of the family to the Tuileries, " how white your hair has grown !" 
" Hush, my dear child," replied the queen; " let us not think of 
such trifles when we have greater sorrows, those of poor papa, to 
distress us." It is true the queen's beautiful hair had grown 
white from the effect of grief. In a single night it had become 
as white as that of a woman of seventy, yet she was only about 
half that age. The Princess de Lamballe having asked for a 
lock of her whitened hair, she had a small quantity set in a ring 
and presented to her, with the inscription. Bleached hy sorrow. 

On the 20th of June 1792, a lawless Parisian rabble forced 
the Tuileries, and rushed like demoniacs from room to room in 
search of the king and queen, who, though sufficiently alarmed, 
did not quail before this barbarous torrent. Placing themselves 
in a recess, with two or three attendants, they awaited what 
might be their fate. The queen placed the dauphin before her 
on "a table. When the tumultuous procession advanced, a person 
of coarse appearance gave the king a red cap, which he put on 
his head, and a similar emblem was di'awn over the head of 
little Louis, almost burying the whole of his face. The horde 
passed in files before the table, carrying symbols of the most 
horrid barbarity. There was one representing a gibbet, to which 
a dirty doll was suspended, with an inscription signifying' that 
it was Marie Antoinette. Another was a board, to which a 
bullock's heart was fastened, with the words inscribed, " Heart 
of Louis XVI." 

By the interference of several deputies, no bloody deed was 
committed on this occasion. The result was very different on 
the ensuing 10th of August, when the palace of the Tuileries 
was attacked and captui"e"d after a gallant and ineffectual defence 
by the Swiss guards, all of whom, to the number of eight hun- 
dred, were barbarously put to death. It would be too painful, even 
if it were necessary, to describe this terrible massacre. The poor 
son of Louis XVI., no longer heir to a throne, for the monarchy 

14 



THE LITTLE CAPTIVE KING. 

was abolished, shared all the perils of that day, evincing- a degi'ee 
of courag-e beyond his age. When the wainscotting' of a secret 
passage in which the family had taken refuge appeared to be 
giving way under the repeated blows of the mob, and when the 
queen with suspended breath was listening to each stroke of the 
axe, the boy, gliding from the terror-relaxed hold of his mother, 
fell on his knees, and putting up his little hands, piously ex- 
claimed, '' Oh God, save mamma !^ — thou art able to do every- 
thing. Oh send away these men ! — a poor child is praying* for his 
mother ! Oh thou good God, wilt thou not hear him ? " As if in 
answer to this artless prayer, the noise suddenly ceased, and an 
announcement was made that the people demanded to see the 
queen — a fruitless interview, though affording a respite at the 
moment. 

The result is well known. Louis XVI., the queen, the dau- 
phin and his sister, with Madame Elizabeth, the sister of the 
king", took refuge in the Assembly, whence, after a lengthened 
debate, they were transferred to confinement in the Feuillans ; 
from this place of detention they were soon taken to the Temple. 



VI. 

THE TEMPLE. 

The Temple owes its name to the Templars, a military order of 
priests, who in the twelfth century devoted themselves to the 
recovery of the Holy Temple at Jerusalem from the Saracens. 
In 1250 they founded this, the principal house of their order, 
and retained possession of it for 160 years. Like the other 
ancient fortresses, it was surrounded by high and turreted battle- 
ments, in the middle of which rose a square tower, the walls of 
which were nine feet in thickness, and which was ilanked by four 
other round towers. The church, of rudely Gothic construction, 
was built on the model of that of St John at Jerusalem. 

Within a court-yard in this gloomy edifice, as well as in the 
park at Versailles and on the terrace of the Tuileries, Louis- 
Charles was indulged with a small garden, a plot where the 
flowers might indeed want the sunshine, but still to him they 
were flowers — he still had a garden to cultivate. The laro-e 
square tower was the prison of the royal family : there for many 
months, to the very day of his death, Louis XVI., whose posses- 
sion of all the virtues which constitute a good father, a g'ood 
head of a family, is not denied even by his enemies, devoted him- 
self to the education of his son. It was his delight to develop 
and cultivate that youthful and naturally quick and powerful 
intellect. Often did his mirthful sallies, his playful wit, beguile 
the anxious parents of a smile. 

Every morning the king rose at six o'clock, and prepared the 
lessons he intended giving- to his son ; at ten, the captives 

15 



THE LITTLE CAPTIVE KING. 

assembled in the queen's apartment, and study